


A Different Matter

by djhedy, moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Demisexuality, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Found Family, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Fucking, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining, Pining while fucking, as is our collective jams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25267510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djhedy/pseuds/djhedy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: After college, Neil is drifting and a bit lost. When Matt makes him move in with him and his housemates, Neil isn't sure what to expect. Finding a family, having casual sex, and then promptly ruining that by falling not-so-casually in love is not on his agenda, though.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 1023
Kudos: 2408





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello we have teamed up to pour our combined sparkling wit, our love for big feels (tm) and our outstanding talent for making things as awkward as possible into this little project. New chapters will be posted probably every Tuesday. We hope you enjoy this wild ride with us!
> 
> (LADS OMG!! LET'S GO -hedy xxx)

Neil is nervous, he realises. He takes the final cardboard box to his desk, hesitates, and then sweeps one arm over the lot of it. Pens, chargers, his squeezy ball, paperclips, a fork for some reason. Being real means acquiring a lot of stuff, apparently. He’s not sure how he feels about it, even after four years.

Matt shouts, “Grabbing the last of the books,” making it sound like Neil has more than two boxes of books. He looks around his dorm, as if he’ll see anything more than an empty, vacant space which his dorm mates had already left earlier that week. He’d waited until the last minute. 

It didn’t help, waiting.

He puts his final box of random junk by the door and grabs his orange hoody. It’s too hot to wear, but he didn’t want to pack it. He’s never had this much stuff, never trusted it with anyone else. Never had to. Now Matt is carrying his meagre belongings down to his truck, to help Neil with his “somewhere to live problem”. 

“I’ll be fine,” Neil had said, avoiding Matt’s eyes.

Matt stared at him, that stern expression that meant Neil wasn’t going to win. That happens a lot these days. “The dorms close in a week, you have nowhere to live, no job, no – I’m your family,” he said abruptly, as if changing course. He stood up then, growing three sizes larger as he always did when Neil was still on the sofa. “I told you, it’s perfect timing. A guy is moving out of the house. The room’s yours.”

Neil had frowned at him. His last attempt. “You have like four other housemates Matt, what if –”

“It’s done,” Matt said, grinning, as if he’d won. “I promise, it’s sorted. This will be fun!”

Neil turns the light off, grabs his box, his hoody, pats his pockets for his wallet – oh. He takes his keys out of his pocket but can’t look at them as he leaves them on the table by the door. The first place he’d got to call home. Well, after Wymack’s, he supposes. The first place he’d got to call  _ his _ .

He hurries downstairs, into the baking sunshine, the figure of Matt leaning against his truck, waiting for him.

-

The house is cool and quiet.

Neil’s been here before, but somehow it was always much rowdier than this. The keys in his hand still feel foreign to him, their ridges uncharted territory for his needy hands. He follows in Matt’s wake, stepping where Matt’s feet landed only a moment ago, still feeling like a guest. An imposter. The box in his arms weighs heavy even though it’s mostly just bedsheets and he adjusts his grip.

“I think the others are at work,” Matt muses, peering into the living room. A couple of sofas line one corner, forming a comfortable nook with a massive entertainment set. There’s a dining area, a board game shelf, a decrepit yucca plant, some armchairs and beanbags and a blackboard up on the wall by the door with scribbles and doodles on it in differently coloured chalk.

Neil sets his box down, then picks it back up.

“Actually, Andrew might be in,” Matt says, leading him up the stairs to the top floor. He tiptoes past a firmly closed door and beckons Neil over to the one next to it. “Here we are.”

He goes inside and throws his arms wide, showing off the empty, sun-bleached room. The floorboards creak a little as Neil steps across the threshold.

“Uh, Matt,” Neil says, with the sudden vertigo of realisation.

“Nice, isn’t it? Told you it’d be perfect.”

“Yeah,” Neil says absent-mindedly. “I just.”

Matt’s forehead puckers in a frown.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no,” Neil says, setting his box down at last to claim at least a little bit of all this empty space. “It’s just – I don’t have a bed?”

Matt looks at him.

Neil looks at Matt.

Then they both start laughing.

The sound echoes in the bare room and Neil tries to stopper it up with his sleeve, the ghost of some old terror about being  _ tooloudtoobigtoomuch  _ creeping up his throat like poison ivy. A muffled noise blots out the silence, like something soft hitting the wall between this room and the one next door.

“Shit,” Matt whispers. “We woke him up.”

“Him?”

“Our resident sleeping dragon,” Matt grins, a little ruefully. “Come on, let’s get the rest of your stuff and then I’m driving you to Ikea to get a bed.”

Ikea is more fun than Neil had been expecting. Matt makes everything easier, from the way he wraps a hand over Neil’s shoulder to guide him when Neil is slowing down, looking over his shoulder for the exits, to Matt’s wide grin and easy laughter as they get lost, as Matt suggests Neil buys things he’s never heard of in colours he didn’t know existed. It’s a big store, and he’s avoided it his whole life for good reason. But with Matt it feels almost ok. Like he can forget why he’s here.

But then Matt makes them test different beds, ones where Matt’s feet dangle a little off the edge and Neil’s curl up two thirds of the way down. He doesn’t care. He says, “What does it matter?”

Matt hums, wriggling his butt from side to side. “You don’t know how long you’ll be sleeping on this,” he says carefully, concentrating as he fluffs the pillow under his head. People are looking at them, but Neil cares even less than Matt does. “And I know you’re good for the money. Might as well be comfortable, right?”

Neil looks away. Wriggles his butt a little. He hates spending money – hates spending his parents’ money. But then, he hates having it even more. “This one’s fine.”

“Hmm,” Matt says, standing up after a second. “I think it’s too soft. My mom always says you don’t want too soft or too hard, let’s just try a few more.”

They do, and finally Neil sinks into one mattress, feels it like a gentle barrier around his body, even closes his eyes for a moment – before they snap open again, remembering he’s in public. But he turns his head to see Matt grinning at him. 

“This one, right?”

Neil nods. Wriggles a bit more. “Mm,” he says, feeling the mattress against his face, scratching a little against skin. God he didn’t realise how tired his body was. He gets up. “Yep. This one will do fine.”

They write down the order number for the mattress and the frame – a double frame, after a brief argument. With eyebrows raised Neil says, “What do I need a double for?”

Matt looks awkward. “Ah. I mean. You never know right?” Neil glares at him, so Matt shrugs. “It’s a big room. You can starfish. Leave your books down one side. Have people round to hang, watch movies on it. I dunno. Why not?”

Neil doesn’t say,  _ I’ve never slept in a bed that big on my own, _ just writes down the code for it as well as the dark grey bedsheets he likes, at the checkout pulls out $400 in cash from his bag, ignores the look on the cashier’s face, ignores Matt’s grin, in fact ignores everything until they’re in the truck, the frame and mattress and everything else tied securely in the back, and he takes a deep breath, and says, “Alright.”

Matt says, “Alright,” and they drive away.

-

Setting up a brand new bed, it turns out, is kinda loud.

After twenty minutes of doing it wrong, the door opens and a distinctly pissed-off looking Andrew shuffles in, surveys the scene, and grabs the crumpled instruction sheet from where Matt and Neil have silently been fighting over it. Neil doesn’t even know how he knows that Andrew is pissed off – he looks about as blank as usual – but. He just does.

“Sorry, dude,” Matt says sheepishly, scratching his head with a wooden peg that neither he nor Neil have been able to figure out where it belongs. “Long night, huh? You’re usually up by now.”

Andrew doesn’t reply. He wordlessly holds his hand out for the peg and immediately slots it into its designated space. Then he proceeds to assemble the bed without even glancing at the instructions again once.

It’s kind of amazing.

Neil tries not to be too impressed by it. Instead he busies himself making coffee for all of them and adds a few doodles to the blackboard in orange and purple.

There. Now he’s made a mark. Something that means he belongs.

He carries the coffee back to his room, where Andrew is hauling the mattress into the finished frame and Matt is looking as desperately helpful as he can without actually helping.

“I made coffee,” Neil announces, holding up the mugs. He forgot sugar and whatever else people normally put in their coffee, but he figures if Andrew wants some he can get it himself. Neil didn’t ask him to put together his bed. The coffee isn’t to make up for that, it’s just – a peace offering. Or something.

Andrew eyes the mugs. Then he eyes Neil. Then he grabs the biggest mug, lightning-quick, and leaves.

“I think we had the headboard the wrong way around,” Matt says cheerfully. “But hey, it’s all done now!”

Neil squints down at the frothy surface of his coffee. He doesn’t know Andrew that well, but he’s pretty sure he usually talks. Well. Reasonably sure. Not a lot, but – 

It would be awfully inconvenient to skid right into the guy’s bad graces within the first twenty-four hours of moving in, considering their rooms are next door to each other. Not that Neil usually cares about antagonising people, but this was supposed to be a new start, a new Neil. And he didn’t even mean to, for once.

“Don’t worry about him,” Matt shrugs, sipping his unsweetened coffee and grimacing. “He’s just grouchy because Aaron moved in with his girlfriend.”

“Aaron...” Neil frowns.

Matt lowers his mug. “Oh, his brother – you guys haven’t met?”

Neil tries to think. He knew Andrew had a twin, just wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the guy’s name. The few times he’d been round the guy just hadn’t been home. “Oh right,” he says. “So I’m in his room?”

“Yep,” says Matt, looking round. “Maybe we should have got you a few other things too…”

“Some other time,” Neil says. The bed’s enough for now. It sits pushed up against one wall, where Andrew positioned it, a wide double window with enough of a ledge to sit on in the middle, and all his boxes and bags shoved against the other wall. He thinks he might get a rug.

Matt claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” He leaves with a grin.

Neil sits on the middle of the floor, and looks at his bed, and the bright blue sky outside the window, and sips his coffee.

Eventually the only thing he does is take one box and shove it against his bed, for a nightstand, and then wanders out the room to get more coffee. He and Andrew are the only ones on the top floor, and they’re sharing a bathroom, so Neil figures he could at least unpack a few things in there first. He puts his mug down and goes back to get his things. There are two cupboards, and one is full of stuff Neil doesn’t look through, instead closes it and unloads a few bottles into the other. Puts his toothbrush in the empty slot in the stand by the sink. Drapes his towel over the spare towel rack, his old ratty green towel next to Andrew’s lush black one. Grabs his mug and his favourite hoody.

Downstairs, Matt and Andrew are in the kitchen, and things are sizzling and popping and Neil leans against a doorframe watching them work in companionable silence, something he doesn’t recognise on the radio as Matt’s hips sway and Andrew’s head bops. Neil says, “Smells good.”

Matt looks up and grins. “We’re making Mexican food.”

Neil looks at the enormous cooker with six hobs and three pans going and says, “For how many people?”

“We usually try to have a house dinner at least once a week,” Matt explains, tasting the pan Andrew just added zucchini to, and sprinkling in some salt. “It’s Andrew’s turn to cook, I’m just helping.”

“So everyone will be here?” Neil asks, looking down at his bright orange hoody.

“Yeah! It’s like a welcome to the house party,” Matt says with a smile, wordlessly handing oil to Andrew. Andrew turns then, sees Neil and pauses, eyes on his chest. He scoffs and turns away and Neil fiddles with the hem. Andrew clicks in Matt’s face and points at Neil and turns back to chop something.

Matt leans against the counter and says, “Oh yeah, are you allergic to anything? I didn’t think so, I told Andrew you weren’t like a vegetarian or anything but…”

And then Neil feels annoyed. He drops his hand, puts his mug on the side and leans against the counter near Andrew. “Hi,” he says, pointedly.

Andrew looks up at Neil, slow and dramatic. Raises one eyebrow.

Neil says, “Thanks for asking, no I’m not allergic to anything.”

Andrew waits a beat, then says, in his usual low monotone, “I’m not talking to you while you’re wearing that.”

“What? It’s my favourite hoody.”

“You didn’t tell me he liked exy,” Andrew says, directing the words down at the chopping board where he's cutting mushrooms with one hand, a little chaotically.

“You didn’t ask,” Matt says with a grin.

Andrew sighs, still monotone, but somehow makes it long-suffering.

“What’s wrong with exy?” Neil asks. A little bit because he genuinely doesn’t understand, but mostly because he wants to tease a reaction out of Andrew.

“I hate you,” Andrew says to Matt, shoving a giant bowl at him. “Salad.”

“Yes, sir,” Matt says, “right away, sir. Neil, what’s your favourite dressing?”

“Uh,” Neil says.

“Don’t tell me you eat your salad plain, bro. You’ll break my heart.”

“I don’t eat my salad plain,” Neil dutifully repeats.

“Great, so –”

“I don’t. Eat salad.”

“I am not nursing him if he gets scurvy,” Andrew warns, while Matt makes a noise that sounds like a keysmash.

“Green goddess it is. Where’s the garlic?”

Neil tries to tiptoe around them to get at the coffee machine but gets waylaid by a giant cutting board and about five baguettes, slammed lovingly into his stomach by Andrew.

“Slice,” he commands.

“So charming,” Neil mutters, but obediently sits down at the table and starts cutting the baguette into uneven slices. The bread knife is shit. Somehow, that makes him feel better than if it had been perfectly sharp and suited to the task.

The first people start coming in. Neil gets a hug from Dan, who smells like fresh air and holds up two bottles of wine with a wicked grin. The bottles clink together behind Neil as she wraps her arms around him and he sits there, stiff and still holding the bread knife, his lap itchy with crumbs.

Next is Renee, carrying an armful of fresh flowers from her work. She doesn’t hug Neil, but she shoots him a warm smile as she hands Andrew a box of sweet treats with a fancy bakery logo on it.

“For dessert,” she says, pointing a warning finger at him and laughing when Andrew picks a mini pie out from the box and stuffs it into his mouth just to spite her.

They set the table in a flurry of activity. Neil feels overwhelmed, folds his hands in his lap, accepts a glass of wine from Dan by accident and then doesn’t know how to return it, so he just leaves it by his plate untouched. Seth throws himself down into a chair and Neil doesn’t think he even noticed him coming in. The bread bowl gets passed around. Matt heaps salad on Neil’s plate twice.

The food is good.

“How about a toast?” Renee proposes, lifting her glass of sparkling water. “To the newest member of the household.”

Neil fiddles with the stem of his wine glass, and then Matt says, “Oh sorry buddy, let me get you a glass of water –”

“I’ll get it,” says Dan with a kiss to both their heads as she takes some plates to the kitchen at the same time. She kicks Seth in the shin as she walks past and he stands with a yelp, grabbing plates to follow her.

Renee spins her glass in her fingers and smiles at Neil. “How’s your room? Do you have everything you need?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” says Neil.

Andrew scoffs, and pushes some bread into his mouth with one hand.

“What?”

Andrew points at Matt, and swallows his mouthful. “Thought you took him shopping?”

Matt looks sheepish at Renee’s curious expression. “I took him to buy a bed. We didn’t really get anything else. His room’s pretty empty.”

“Yeah, and it’s fine,” Neil repeats. “I can get more if I need it.”

“Can you?” Andrew repeats, a sarcastic drawl as he lifts his wine glass and sips at it.

Neil sits back, a little annoyed at the scrutiny. He has everything he needs and feels a sudden irritation at being confronted by people who don’t know what it’s like to not even have a roof over your head. He swallows his irritation as Dan returns with water and Andrew snatches Neil’s wine glass, pouring it into his own.

Seth ruffles Andrew’s hair and jumps away before the blow lands. He laughs and collapses into his chair next to Renee. “Where were we?”

“To Neil!” Dan says lifting her wine glass enthusiastically.

“Please don’t,” says Neil.

“To a new friend,” says Renee with a sweet smile on her face.

“He was already my friend,” says Matt, side-hugging him.

“To the house getting another cook?” suggests Seth.

Andrew looks Neil up and down. “Not likely,” he offers.

Dan stands and purposefully clinks her glass against Matt’s. The others join in, and Neil raises his water glass reluctantly. At a look from Matt he sighs and adds, “To solving my somewhere to live problem?”

“I’m fucking touched man,” says Seth with a grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS NOW HAS A PODFIC by the amazing @nightquills - to be updated more or less weekly when she gets the time! we are incredibly grateful, and she has such a nice voice, go and check it out if you want:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391215/chapters/61571593
> 
> yaaasssssssssssssssssss -hedy (on behalf of a much more proper and lovely moonix too) xxx

The blackboard says, “Mandatory House Bonding: Bowling @ Ezy, Tuesday 7 p.m.” with an excess of exclamation marks drawn all around it.

Neil picks up a grey stick of chalk and doodles a little storm cloud that rains down on the letters. Then he uses the pad of his finger to wipe at the ‘z’ in Ezy and replaces it with a red ‘x’. Adds some bunny ears on top of the @ and squeezes a few question marks in between the exclamation marks.

Nothing about mandatory bonding appeals to him. Matt is probably going to make him go anyway, and it’s probably going to be fine, but. Neil still needs to be annoyed about it first.

He’s been here a week, and it’s been… ok.

It’s rare that all occupants of the house are home at the same time. The others are more sociable than Neil, whose main hobbies consist of going for a solitary run at the crack of dawn and going for a solitary walk in the evening when it’s just getting dark. There’s something about sunrises and sunsets that makes him restless, but in a calm way. Or something. The point is, he doesn’t need company for those, and company doesn’t need him.

Or so he thinks, anyway.

On Tuesday, just as predicted, Matt comes to his room to drag him downstairs for their bowling night. Neil puts on his orange hoody, because if he’s going to be yanked outside of his comfort zone then he might as well at least be physically comfortable, even if Andrew looks like he’s personally offended him again.

For some reason Neil didn’t really expect Andrew to come along, but he does.

Ezy Bowling looks slightly derelict from the outside and does not try to make up for that impression on the inside. There’s a kind of dining area to one side, with stiff, cracked leather seats and a sparse menu that lists easy junk food staples in monotone cursive as well as a small selection of ice cream floats and milkshakes. The stale smell of bowling alley wax, frying fat and spilled cola layers over the faint, sour remnants of sweat and cleaning chemicals. The only other people are an old couple sitting in a corner booth whose entire focus seems to be taken up by the task of not talking to each other. Either that, or they’re listening really hard to the nondescript country music twanging from crackly speakers.

“Shoes!” Dan announces, rallying them around her. Neil wrinkles his nose at the smell of them but takes a pair anyway, dangling them from the laces.

“Is Aaron coming?” someone asks Andrew, who just shrugs and turns on his heel to go to the counter and order a root beer float. He’s got his shoes flung over his shoulder by the laces and he’s wearing a black shirt with a single, rainbow stripe down the side and sleeve.

“Alright, who wants to be on the winning team?” Dan announces with a grin, clapping her hands.

“In your dreams, Wilds,” Seth crows, taking up post opposite her.

“It’ll come down to whether or not Andrew’s in a mood to play, anyway,” Matt mutters. Then he shrugs and sidles over to Dan. Neil finds himself on Seth’s side of the invisible divide, and Renee patiently waits for Andrew to finish getting his drink, leaving the decision up to him.

When Andrew returns Seth says, “Minyard, what do you think?” Andrew shrugs and sits himself at Seth’s table, keying names into the screen. Seth pumps his fist in the air and Renee high fives Dan and Matt.

Andrew writes, “andrew,” “gordon,” and “orange.”

“Hey,” objects Neil, when he sees the board.

Andrew clicks  _ enter  _ and stands up. “Prove me wrong sometime.”

Neil sits next to Seth as Andrew lines up against Renee to take the first… serve? Neil hasn’t been bowling before. Seth says, “So, have you played before, kid?”

Neil says, “Sure,” and, “I’m not a kid.”

Seth raises an eyebrow. He says, “Ok kid,” and stands to take his ball. Andrew and Renee both got strikes on their first round and Matt and Dan are screeching. Neil scratches at his jeans.

Andrew sits down next to him, grabs his root beer float and sucks on the straw. They watch Seth in silence and then Andrew says, “Your turn.”

Neil gives him a look and gets up. He’s up at the same time as Matt, who picks up the biggest, heaviest looking ball. Neil goes for the same type, and Matt puts a hand on his forearm. “Bro,” he says, “I think you want a lighter one. Better for speed, yeah?” Neil shrugs and puts it down, picks up a smaller, green one. Takes his position and watches Matt first. He tries to copy him, and what happens is the bowling ball curves and goes straight into the gutter.

When Andrew sits by him next, he says, “Line of sight.”

And Neil says, “Excuse me?”

Andrew points to where Seth is bowling, holding one arm out in front of him and swapping arms as he rolls the ball forward with force. He hits six of his nine pins.

“Ok,” says Neil, and this time he does the same thing. He hits two pins on the left and smiles.

“Any other tips?”

“Wear less orange.”

Neil is grinning by the time he’s on his fourth round, and on his fifth he gets a strike.

Seth cheers and moves as if to pick him up, but stops suddenly and ruffles his hair instead.

“Fast learner,” says Andrew, looking unimpressed at the knocked down pins. Neil smirks.

They win, only because Matt and Dan are as bad as Neil was at the start. He  _ is _ a fast learner though, and on the second game, after nibbling on some of the fries Seth buys them, starts trying to beat his record for speed on every bowl. He doesn’t always get a strike, but he consistently gets six or higher, and between joking with Seth and monotone commentary from Andrew, he’s actually enjoying himself.

When Andrew and Renee are next up, Dan and Matt are sitting kind of close together and Dan is whispering in Matt’s ear, Matt’s face bright with laughter. Seth nudges Neil with his elbow and says, “Has that happened yet?”

Neil looks at him. “You don’t know?”

“Matt won’t tell me anything,” Seth says with a small scowl. “He thinks I can’t keep a secret. I fucking can. Go on, tell me something.”

Neil thinks about it. “I don’t have any secrets.”

“Quick,” says Seth, as Andrew and Renee have bowled their strikes and are talking over the balls on their way back, and looks at Neil with big, imploring eyes.

Neil says, “I wore this hoody because it annoys Andrew.”

Seth opens his mouth, and then laughs. The loud, cackly laughter makes Neil grin, unexpectedly. He and Seth both put a finger to their lips and then Seth stands and is replaced by Andrew who gives Neil a curious look. Neil shrugs and says, “It’s a secret.”

Andrew looks away again.

The night flies by.

Neil feels kind of drunk on the way home, or maybe – full. Like he’s eaten too much of something tasty. Matt has got his arm around him as they walk up the driveway, a few stars are spilled across the sky. The air has that first nip of autumn, something crisp and fresh just around the corner. It’s good. Neil is a little blindsided by how good it is.

He says good night and happens to walk upstairs at the same time as Andrew. They go to their rooms, then both make for the bathroom at the same time and stop.

“You go first,” Neil decides. He kind of wants a moment to sit at his window and let the dust settle, anyway.

Andrew’s eyes slide off him and he steps around Neil. For some reason it’s the first time Neil really notices that Andrew is a little shorter than him. He has such a big presence, it never really occurred to him before.

“Night,” Neil blurts out, tongue catching on the word as his brain still dithers over whether to say it or not.

The door closes behind Andrew.

-

Mandatory house bonding becomes a thing.

Or, probably it was already a thing way before Neil moved in. Seth gets them all reduced tickets for some concert and Neil nearly bails, but the venue is comparatively small and they find a good spot up on the gallery in the back, where Neil can nurse his water with his back against the wall and watch the others dance and shout and laugh. The next week Matt suggests a drive-in cinema and Neil ends up in Andrew’s car with a massive bag of popcorn between them. Andrew smokes out the window, Neil toes off his shoes and wedges one knee under his chin. They don’t talk, except for when Andrew throws popcorn at Neil’s cheek and tells him to stop bouncing his leg, and Neil throws it back and tells Andrew to die mad about it. 

He has  _ fun _ .

There’s a restaurant that knows their usual orders. They have a movie night and the girls make a blanket fort, complete with string lights and fake candles. Neil gets squidged in between Matt and Andrew and sneakily swaps almost half of his boring pizza for Seth’s more exciting one before Seth notices.

In between all the bonding he meets Aaron, who is not nearly as interesting as Andrew, and when Neil says so out loud he thinks for the first time that Andrew might actually approve.

Or… something along those lines, anyway. Neil’s still figuring it out.

The rest of his time Neil spends listlessly looking for jobs, going running, watching exy. He doesn’t really hang out in his room, which is just as pathetically empty as it was the first week. He still doesn’t have a rug, but Dan gave him a chair she doesn’t need anymore and Seth dumped an old set of speakers on him and Matt bought him a laundry basket because apparently storing your dirty laundry in a plastic bag is not en vogue, or something.

They go bowling a couple more times. Sometimes other people join in. Today, other people means Kevin and his housemates, who apparently have their own tradition of house bonding on Tuesday nights.

Neil wears his hoody and catches Seth’s eye as they leave. Tucks his chin into his collar to hide a grin. So far his secret has been safe with Seth, though today’s reason for wearing the hoody has a different target, if still the same motivation.

Neil is nothing if not motivated by the desire to be as annoying as possible.

“I call dibs on Neil!” Matt announces as soon as they get to the bowling alley, physically grabbing Neil’s arm. “Suck it, Gordon.”

Seth gives him the finger and claims Renee instead. Andrew, who won’t be claimed, has drifted off to stare blankly at the unchanged menu and isn’t responding to Dan’s question of whether he’s going to play today, so they set up without him.

Neil is distracted until Kevin’s lot arrives, and then he’s distracted by Kevin, who makes a face when he sees the hoody like he just accidentally sat on a pin cushion.

“Seriously, Josten?”

“Oh my,” says Neil. “Are you  _ Kevin Day _ ?”

Matt grins and Kevin rolls his eyes. Behind him Jeremy is laughing.

Kevin does that thing where he scowls to try to hide a blush. Neil knows he hates the  _ #2 Kevin Day  _ Foxes hoody that became Neil’s favourite partly because even after countless washes it’s the softest thing he owns, partly because even a small size is big enough on him that the sleeves cover the marks on his wrist and half his palms, partly because exy is his favourite thing and why wouldn’t he wear that proudly – and partly because of the look on Kevin’s face.

And now, on Andrew’s as well.

Neil and Kevin go way back. Way back to the exy game where Neil finally decided to let go and splash a little cash, bought one of the striker’s hoodies and took it to the locker rooms to get Kevin Day to sign it. 

Kevin had turned his nose up, “I don’t have time to sign merch.”

Neil had said, “The game’s over. I spent $30 on this.”

“So?”

“Wow. Someone has a big head.”

“You’re the one who wants me to sign it.”

“No I don’t.”

“You  _ just  _ said –”

“I don’t know what gave you that impression.”

“Fine. Give it here –”

“No –”

It had been their first argument. Kevin had grabbed the thing, signed his name on the back and they’d been friends ever since.

Kevin hasn’t played exy for a few years, but it’s no longer a sore spot. Neil’s made sure of that. Kevin has nothing to be ashamed of.

Jeremy says, “I’m in love with you,” and Neil tries to remember if they’ve met more than a couple of times. Jeremy grins. “Anyone who can get Kevin to turn red gets my friendship! Congrats!” He shakes Neil’s hand.

“Everyone gets your friendship, dude,” Seth says.

“I’m not red,” says Kevin. Matt is already pulling him away, trying to steal him onto his team.

Neil says, “Yeah. Hi. Jeremy, right?”

Jeremy sighs. “Yes, we’ve met several times. You know Jean!” He says it like a statement, like of course everyone knows Jean, and Neil notices the tall impassive man for the first time, like he’s just stepped out of the shadows.

“Of course,” says Neil, who definitely didn’t forget #3 Moreau’s first name or anything.

Jean almost smiles. “Hello,” he says politely, still standing an inch behind Jeremy.

“Let’s play!” says Jeremy, one hand on Jean’s arm to pull him forwards. “What are the teams?”

Matt, Neil and Kevin get Jeremy, while Seth takes Dan, Renee and Jean. Andrew wanders back from the bar late enough to ensure they’ve already started, and Neil’s watched him finish one drink already and bring another back. He hovers near Neil, and Neil says, “Want to be on my team?”

Andrew looks at him. “You can give me tips,” suggests Neil. When Andrew still doesn’t respond Neil adds, “They don’t have to be helpful.”

Andrew sits next to him.

True to Neil’s offer, he provides some spectacularly unhelpful tips, peppering in a few good ones every once in a while to keep Neil on his toes. Jeremy is an enthusiastic player, though he seems more interested in the socialising aspect of the gathering. Kevin is both highly competitive and arrogantly condescending towards a sport that isn’t exy and keeps trying to implement exy movements into his throws. Sometimes it works, most times it does not. Renee and Jean make for a fearsome duo though, and Neil’s team has to concede defeat in the end.

Somehow, they end up at a bar.

As bars go, this one is pretty lowkey. The light has a golden syrup quality, the music is sultry and smooth, the drinks menu is kept classy and traditional, though it has some non-alcoholic options tucked into a corner. Neil orders a virgin mojito and delights in swirling the metal straw around the glass, crushing the limes and mint leaves and knocking the ice cubes around. Both Kevin and Renee go for ridiculously pink mocktails, Dan and Andrew order a whisky, Jean nurses a gin and tonic, and the rest largely stick with beer.

Neil sits somewhere in the intersection between several individual conversations. He soaks them up without really engaging, content to just keep his thoughts to himself for now and become – maybe not invisible, but camouflaged.

He doesn’t realise he’s fidgeting with his drink again until Andrew takes his straw away from him with a huff.

“Stop stabbing it. You already killed it twice over.”

“I think that lime is looking like it’s got some juicy life left in it,” Neil says, nudging the glass with his fingernail.

“It’s dead,” Andrew says.

“Still better than your whisky,” Neil points out. “It smells like a smokehouse hooked up with a brewery in some filthy back alley before dying of lung cancer.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him and takes a demonstrative sip from his drink. His lips barely touch the rim, the tilt of his wrist is tight and controlled. The whisky leaves a rich, oily residue on the inside of the glass.

Then Andrew’s eyes catch on something behind Neil and he pauses. Puts his glass down in a slow, measured movement and gets up.

“Where are you going?” Neil asks, but Andrew is already walking away.

Puzzled, Neil watches as he passes another table, lightly trailing his hand along the edge. Neil is so focused on Andrew that he doesn’t immediately see the shift in the bodies around the table as one of them gets up to follow.

“Less than twenty minutes,” Dan crows, looking at her wristwatch. “Pay up, losers!”

“Less than twenty minutes what,” Neil says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt tells him. “Just a stupid bet.”

Neil frowns.

“What kind of bet?”

“About how much of a slut Andrew is going to be on any given day of the week,” Seth provides cheerfully.

“Oi,” Dan says, wagging her finger at him. “We don’t slut shame in this household. If Andrew wants to sleep his way through the entire gay population in his age bracket in this town, that’s his god-given right-”

“What,” Neil says. Glances over to the door Andrew disappeared through. Is he really just fucking this guy in the bathroom? That can’t be comfortable. Much less hygienic.

Though, if Neil had to rank the appeal of sex with a stranger on a scale from being force-fed slimy oyster mushrooms to going for a run on a perfectly crisp September morning as the sun is coming up…

Well. It wouldn’t be much higher up than the oyster mushrooms, really.

He tries to tune back into the conversation but his eyes keep flicking towards the bathroom door. He takes his straw back from where it rests on the table and stabs his lime.

When Andrew finally gets back Neil has allowed his attention to be grabbed by Jean and Kevin who are running through the latest stats of their favourite exy teams. Andrew sits back down next to Neil and picks up his glass, all in the corner of Neil’s vision as he pretends to follow along with whatever Kevin is saying. Jean seems to be doing the same as he raises his eyebrows at Andrew’s return, flicks a glance at Neil, and settles half-heartedly back into the conversation.

Jean was never as into exy for its own sake as Kevin. But they’re best friends, so. Jean nods as Kevin says something with enthusiasm, Neil isn’t even sure what it is.

He’s too aware of Andrew sitting next to him, body sprawled backwards into his seat, bored or content, tense or relaxed, Neil has no idea.

He has so many questions he can’t ask. He doesn’t think Andrew would answer them anyway. They barely know each other, and what Andrew does is none of his business.

Jeremy leans over. “Boys, boys, we can’t talk exy all evening. It’s  _ bonding  _ night. How about a drinking game!”

Neil frowns but Andrew leans forward, rests his arms on the table. Neil looks at him, then away again. He prods his lime with his straw and Andrew takes the whole glass off him, standing and announcing, “Bar.”

Kevin gets up to go with him and they take everyone’s orders. While they’re gone Jeremy says, “Neil, you don’t drink right?” Neil shakes his head. “That’s ok, you can play anyway.”

“Play what?”

Jean sighs. “Jeremy, really?”

Jeremy is grinning at him, and leaning sideways to pull everyone else’s attention towards them. “Jean and Neil are super keen on my getting to know you game! Is everyone in?”

“Is drinking involved?” asks Dan, smirking sideways at Matt.

Jeremy nods seriously. “Optional, but yes. Of course. I want to get to know everyone better. And  _ vulnerability _ requires  _ alcohol _ .” He claps a hand round Jean’s shoulder. Jean tenses a little and stares into his empty glass.

They debate rules and when Kevin and Andrew return with an armful of drinks, they start playing. Andrew places another virgin mojito in front of Neil, and Neil takes it without looking at him. This one doesn’t have a straw, so he has nothing to fiddle with. He glares at the table.

The game is some version of truth, but they all take it in turns to answer every question, and the questions themselves are basic and innocent – favourite joke (Dan), where did you grow up (Matt), favourite exy team (Kevin), place you’d most like to visit (Renee), worst thing you’ve done that wasn’t technically illegal (Andrew), favourite band (Seth), what you’d say to your parents if you could (Jeremy), favourite colour (Jean), and what you’d buy if money wasn’t an issue (Neil).

He only has to lie for half the questions.

They’re back home when Neil is forced to look at Andrew again. Seth has finally released Neil with a pat to the head and a stumble into his room – the last on the floor – and Neil makes his way upstairs, glass of water in hand, and opens his door to find Andrew smoking on his window ledge.

Neil pauses in the doorway. “Hi,” he says.

Andrew doesn’t reply. Blows smoke out the open window.

“Uh, did you get lost?” Neil tries again, stepping in to place his glass on his nightstand box and perch on the edge of the bed.

Andrew takes his time finishing his cigarette, throws it out the window and closes it. He swivels to face Neil and puts one foot on the ground, crossing his leg over the other. He says, “Do we have a problem?”

Neil frowns. “What?”

Andrew cocks his head at him. “I’m trying to work it out.”

“Work out  _ what? _ ”

Andrew holds up his hands, assesses them. “You’re either homophobic or an oblivious moron. I can’t tell.”

Neil blinks, raises one hand and puts it down again. “I –  _ what?  _ I’m not homophobic.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him and crosses his arms. “You ignored me after I came back.”

Neil rolls his eyes, body relaxing a bit. He says, “Sorry  _ sweetheart,  _ I won’t do it next time.”

Andrew tenses, and then relaxes, all in one beat. He stands up and says, “So you don’t care.”

“I don’t care,” repeats Neil. They stare at each for a further minute, and then Andrew shrugs, and leaves. Neil looks down at his shoes, and toes out of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit is starting to get warmer xxx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments are so sweet thank you for being the best omg. love hedy&moonix xxx

Ezy’s is hiring.

Neil spends a good ten minutes standing in front of the Help Wanted notice on the corkboard by the door, scuffing his shoes against the ground. Then he tears himself away and joins the others. It sticks in his mind though, like a bit of plastic foil clinging to the corner of his awareness, and by the next day, Neil has decided he might as well give it a go. It’s not like he has anything else to do, or some big plan for his future. He’s just chiselling away at it one day at a time, trying to uncover some semblance of a shape in the blank marble slab of the rest of his life.

The owner calls him back that afternoon, and one brief, unnecessary tour of the bowling alley and a few signatures later, Neil has a job.

He feels giddy and weirdly bloated with excitement, so he goes for a second run instead of a walk, pushing himself hard until the last step. When he enters the house he nearly walks into Andrew, who is on his way from the kitchen to the living room with a bowl of incredibly mushy cereal.

“Gross,” Andrew says, eyes trailing over Neil’s sweaty clothes.

“I could say the same about that,” Neil says and nods at Andrew’s bowl. “You are aware that you don’t steep cereal like tea, right?”

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it,” Andrew hums.

“Hard pass.”

Neil jogs up the stairs, feeling Andrew’s gaze on his back like a target painted between his shoulderblades. He takes the world’s fastest shower, throws on his second favourite hoody, and goes back downstairs. Doubling back to the kitchen he fixes himself a bowl of non-soggy cereal to show Andrew how it’s done before wandering into the living room.

Andrew is on the couch with his laptop. When Neil comes in, he tilts his almost-empty bowl against his mouth and noisily slurps up the last dregs of milk. Then he turns up the volume on whatever he’s watching and pointedly ignores him.

Neil is happy to ignore him right back. He squeezes his legs underneath himself, slowly eats his cereal and stares at the wall. The sounds from the YouTube video Andrew is watching vaguely filter through – something about how to make Momofuku Milk Bar’s allegedly famous cereal milk ice cream, not that Neil’s ever heard about it before. He just recognises the name of the place from sleeping in an alley across from one of their stores for a while, the first time he ever ran away from home.

He shakes his head and lets his spoon clatter into his bowl, ignoring the puddle of milk at the bottom. He’s not in the mood to dwell in the past tonight.

“Where is everyone?” he asks as the video switches to the next one, something called compost cookies which, honestly, doesn’t sound any more appealing to Neil than cereal soup.

“Matt and Dan are at the cinema, Seth went to a gig downtown with unimportant people, Renee is out doing her self-righteous Christian charity work,” Andrew rattles off, then points his spoon at Neil. “And you are being boring.”

“So sorry my general existence doesn’t titillate you,” Neil says, rolling his eyes. “What were you going to do before I came home?”

Andrew swishes his spoon at his laptop with a sarcastic lilt.

“Were you just going to watch them or were you actually going to bake anything?” Neil asks. He can’t help the challenging note that enters his voice, but it has the pleasing side-effect of making Andrew look at him like he finally did something interesting. Then Andrew smacks his laptop shut and gets up.

“Watch and learn,” he says, beckoning Neil to follow him into the kitchen.

He does, and to begin with he just hovers, but then Andrew starts pointing at things and giving brief instructions, and Neil belatedly realises this is the first time they’ve hung out just the two of them.

Andrew is stirring something milky in a pan when Neil’s phone vibrates loudly into the silence of the room. He ignores it until it goes off again and he realises it’s ringing. 

“You going to answer that?” says Andrew without looking at him.

Neil pats floury hands down his sweatpants and pulls his phone out just in time to answer, “Yeah?”

“Neil!” comes Seth’s voice. There’s something loud in the background and Seth is practically shouting down the phone. “Are you with Andrew?”

“How did you get my number?”

“He’s not answering his phone – ask him if he’s heard of a band called  _ Dinosaurs Chose to Die _ .”

Neil holds his phone away from his ear and asks Andrew. Andrew hums noncommittally but then says, “Yes.”

“He says he has.”

“Ok well in that case I’m fucking mad at him because they’re amazing and I’ve never heard of them! Tell him we have to book them!”

“Um, ok,” says Neil, not really following the conversation.

“Anyway, what are you guys up to?”

“Bye Seth,” Neil remembers to say before he hangs up and puts his phone back in his pocket.

Andrew is pouring his pan mixture into Neil’s bowl mixture so Neil leans against the counter. He knows vaguely that Seth and Andrew work at the same bar, but he doesn’t really know what Andrew does. “Seth says you have to book the band.” Andrew doesn’t reply, so Neil adds, “Book them where? For the bar?”

“Yes,” says Andrew. He hesitates, looks at Neil, and says, “Seth’s the music promoter at the bar I work at sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Neil knows Andrew’s schedule is all over the place, hears him come and go at different hours on different days.

Andrew doesn’t reply until the bowl has been mixed, scooped into a cake pan and put in the oven. He sets the temperature carefully and then pulls himself up to sit cross-legged on the counter opposite, using a spoon to lick the bowl. “I’m a DJ.”

Neil feels his eyebrows raise involuntarily. “Oh. The others didn’t say.” Andrew shrugs. “You’re always wearing headphones.” Andrew points his spoon at him, and then licks it, never breaking eye contact. Neil smiles. “So you like music?” Andrew shrugs. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a great conversationalist?” Andrew scowls at him. “So you DJ sometimes. What else do you do?”

“I work at a record store during the day.”

“Wow, records,” says Neil, as if he knows the latest technology, which he doesn’t really, but he knows it isn’t  _ records _ .

Andrew says, “It’s an underappreciated medium,” forlornly, whilst calculating how much mixture he has left to eat. It’s a generous amount. “My turn,” he announces, and before Neil can ask what he means, he says, “You don’t have a job, do you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re always home, they say you don’t do anything.”

“You’ve asked about me?” Neil says with a grin. And then, with a frown, “Wait, who says I do nothing? I do things.”

“What things,” Andrew deadpans, as if he doesn’t care.

But he’s waiting for an answer, so Neil plays with the hem of his grey sweatshirt and says, “Oh, well, actually I just got a job today. It’s taken me a while to find one. And I have some savings, so... Yeah. Anyway, there was a job going at Ezy’s.”

Andrew stops moving, spoon mid-lick, and takes it away from his mouth to say, with disdain, “You got a job at our bowling alley.”

Neil feels warm at the words, and it’s enough to say with confidence, “Yes. Why not, we’re always there. I just need something to do during the day. It’s perfect.”

Andrew shrugs, and goes back to his bowl.

They talk for a while, about music. Neil discovers Andrew doesn’t have a favourite band because he likes basically everything, and Andrew discovers Neil doesn’t have a favourite band because he likes basically nothing. “I don’t see the appeal of listening to music all the time,” Neil says. “I could never wear noise-cancelling headphones.”

“Paranoid?” Andrew asks as the timer goes off and he hops off the counter to check the cake. Neil lets him take it out, rack it, and cut them each a slice, and doesn’t dignify his accusation with a response.

They take their cake into the living room. Andrew puts some music on. Neil plays with one of the electric candles leftover from their blanket fort until it flickers to life.

It’s kind of nice.

Matt and Dan come back from the cinema and exclaim happily over the cake. Matt tells Neil about the film in such great detail that Neil is starting to suspect he and Dan made out for the entire length of it and Matt looked up a review of it online on the way home. He catches Dan’s eye and smirks; Dan winks at him and ruffles Matt’s hair in passing, humming and swaying her hips.

Renee returns soon after as well. She drops into an armchair and rubs her feet, wincing. Andrew wordlessly gets up and fetches her a slice of cake, and she shoots him a look of amused gratitude when he dumps the plate in her hands. They have some sort of conversation in minute facial expressions for a moment, and then Andrew walks past his earlier chair and sits in the one closer to Neil.

The house smells like vanilla and lemon. Laughter fills the gaps between words. Neil is tired and buzzy and, he thinks, overwhelmed, but not in a bad way, not really.

This is his home now, he reminds himself. Not just a place where he sleeps. More than just a roof over his head.

Somewhere to just. Exist.

-

It’s a minor miracle, really, that Allison lets him get away with it for so long.

She calls him after his first shift at the bowling alley, which is uneventful aside from a weird amount of dusting and polishing. They talk for an hour while Neil walks a looping figure of eight path through the park, meaning Allison mostly talks and Neil mostly listens, and then she bullies him into telling her about work and his new housemates.

“It’s ok,” Neil says. “They’re fun.”

“I thought you were allergic to that,” Allison hums. “So, like, Sunday works well for me.”

“For what?”

“You were going to invite me over of course, duh,” she says, a smile in her voice. “How about six?”

“Would you stay away if I told you no?” Neil asks, defeated.

“Probably not,” Allison says.

They end up going out for smoothies on Sunday afternoon, because Allison wants him to herself first, and because Neil doesn’t know what to do with his Sunday other than fidget and work himself up into a nervous state about his only friend meeting his only other friends.

Housemates. Friends.

Whatever.

“So, on a scale of zero to me, how hot are they?” Allison asks him as she perches on the low wall outside the carwash while her car is being primped. Neil chews on his straw and dangles his legs. The brick underneath his hands is warm, but the air has a chill to it that makes him shiver in his thin t-shirt.

“Dunno,” he says. “I guess regular.”

Allison clicks her tongue.

“I guess we’ll find out. Are any of them single?”

“Dunno,” Neil says again, though this time with half a grin. “I guess.”

Allison shoves him and he nearly tips off the wall.

“You are useless. Come on, we’ll be fashionably late if we take the long way back.”

-

Neil watches as Allison makes her way through the house. Dan and Matt and Seth are in the living room, drinks in hand, and Neil leans against the doorway as Allison introduces herself, exclaims over Dan’s nails, punches Matt in the arm, offers Seth an elegant hand. She moves through people as if they’re already friends, as if they’ll all get what they want from each other, no sweat. Neil’s seen her do this before and it becomes no less impressive every time.

“Are you joining us for dinner?” Dan asks from her place on Matt’s lap.

Allison looks at Neil. “Honestly, Neil.”

“Oh, yes,” Neil says quickly, straightening. “Uh, whose turn is it to cook?”

“Renee’s,” Matt says, pointing to the kitchen.

Neil moves through to the kitchen, feeling Allison trail behind him. Andrew and Renee are moving round the kitchen. Music is on – something that sounds both Spanish and electronic to Neil – and they’re actually almost dancing. Neil feels blindsided for a moment as he watches Andrew sway to the side, duck under Renee’s arm to grab a pan, Renee twirling around him. She sees them first and grins. “Hey,” she says to Neil, throwing a look at Allison before putting down her onions on a chopping board. She wipes her hands on her apron.

“Hi,” says Neil. “This is Allison. Is it ok if she joins us for dinner? Sorry, I should have –”

“Yes, you should have,” says Allison, cutting him off. Andrew is still dancing on the spot, back turned to them, concentrating on whatever he’s stirring in a pan. He does look around though, stoic expression on his face, rakes one unimpressed look up and down Allison, flicks a glance at Neil, and returns to the pan. He’s no longer dancing, except when the next song comes on he and Renee exchange a glance and on the spot dancing is happening all over the place. Andrew manages to look both elegant and purposeful, uncaring and incidental, all at once.

Neil realises Renee and Allison have been chatting away for some time, and a glass is being pressed into his hand. “What is this?”

Renee smiles kindly at him. “A mocktail. Andrew made it.” She sweeps away to pour wine in two glasses and hands one to Allison, and smiles up at her as they clink glasses.

Andrew is sat cross-legged on the counter, one hand on a wooden spoon, as if stirring the pan is too boring to do standing, sipping whisky and watching Neil. Neil looks into his glass, a sort of pinky-purple, sniffs it, and tries some.

“Oh,” he says. He looks up at Andrew. “That’s nice. What is it?”

“Cranberry juice, club soda.” Andrew shrugs. And then smirks at him. “Lime.”

Neil swirls his glass and feels the lime wedge hit gently against the ice cubes at the bottom of his glass. He looks up. “There’s really no alcohol?”

Andrew stares at him, then hops off the counter. Probably so that he doesn’t have to look at Neil anymore. Neil feels like he just got something wrong, and he wants to correct it, but then Allison and Renee are including him in their conversation and he can’t just stare at Andrew until he’ll look at him again.

All in all, the evening goes more smoothly than Neil imagined.

Dinner is good. Allison fits herself seamlessly into the group. She has some intense conversation with Dan about politics, casually flirts with both Seth and Renee, jokes around with Matt and patiently (and expertly) fields questions about her car from the boys. For some reason that is beyond Neil, Seth, Allison and Andrew start discussing a new brand of condoms – of all the things he thought they might bond over – and Neil tries his best to focus his attention on the other side of the table instead, which is chatting about a TV show Neil isn’t watching.

Still, though. It’s way past midnight when Allison finally shouts down the last offer of coffee and gets up. Dan and Renee insist she has to come round for a girls’ night at some point and Matt waves his phone around, talking about a fair that’s coming to town in the second week of September and how they should all go. Neil walks Allison to her car, sucking in the cool night air and stretching his arms.

“Verdict?” he asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Allison gives him a weird look. Then she reaches out and ruffles his hair, straightens his hood.

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy,” she tells him and somehow manages to make it sound about ten times less sappy than it should.

“Admit it,” Neil grins, “you like them.”

Allison rolls her eyes.

“Fine. Yes. Can you find out if Renee is single? I swear I couldn’t get a straight answer out of her all night.”

“That might be because she’s not straight,” Neil smirks, and earns himself a playful shove.

“Seth, on the other hand,” Allison says, and Neil finishes that sentence for her.

“Was definitely staring at your boobs.”

“They’re good boobs,” Allison sniffs.

“Yes, they are,” Neil tells her, because he knows she won’t take it the wrong way. “But please refrain from sleeping with any of my housemates.”

“I’ll try,” Allison shrugs, inspecting her nails. 

“Allison,” Neil warns. “You know what happened last time-”

“Yes, yes, I got it, no dining and dashing,” she repeats, smirking.

This time it’s Neil who shoves her, and they bat each other around a bit before Allison slides into the driver’s seat.

“Keep me updated on the Renee situation,” she says sweetly. “And wear something nice when we go to the fair, I don’t want you embarrassing me.”

Neil gives her the finger and turns it into a wave as she drives off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sing with me: aaaaaaaallison


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright lads, lasses and loves, this one's a fav, we hope you like it just as much as we do! Let us whisk you away to a fair, witness some good Jean and Neil bonding, sprinkle in a lil bit of spicy tension, and join us for a spicy round of Never Have I Ever that will reveal a secret or two...

Through some sort of inter-house grapevine, Jeremy finds out about the fair and tags both himself and Kevin and Jean along. Andrew’s brother shows up with his girlfriend in tow, and they end up having to split into individual groups, reconvening at strategic intervals to get food and drinks.

Neil immediately endears himself to Aaron by calling him different names that all start with A accidentally-on purpose, earning himself an amused glance from Andrew. He gets a bag of mixed caramelised nuts and crunches his way through it, starts two arguments with Kevin and engineers another one between Kevin and Seth, and sets about trying every ride on the fairground with, surprisingly, Renee and Jean.

It’s a warm day, the air thick and rich like clotted cream. Sweet and salty smells from the food stalls mix with the elated screams from the rides, and Neil feels weirdly in his element, darting through gaps in the crowd and blending in, snagging bites of food from the others when they aren’t looking. When they take a break from the rollercoasters, Neil finds Matt trying to win some sort of stuffed animal prize for Dan while Dan and Seth discuss the merits of a giant poop emoji cushion for sale.

“You suck at this,” Neil tells Matt encouragingly as he narrowly misses the target again.

“Damn,” Matt says. “These things are all rigged, anyway, right?”

“Why don’t you just buy her something? It’ll be cheaper than wasting all this money on tickets.”

“It’s not the same, though,” Matt whines. “Yo, Andrew! Come over here a second.”

He waves over a slightly sunburnt looking Andrew, who is in the process of decimating a towering pile of pink cotton candy.

“Andrew won one of those pigs with the wings earlier,” Matt tells Neil. “Aaron wanted one for Katelyn.”

“And you just let him have it?” Neil asks Andrew, incredulous.

“He owes me a favour now,” Andrew says ominously, ripping a string of spun sugar from his cotton candy with his teeth. It smudges against the corner of his mouth, glittering and winking in the sun.

“How did you do it, man?” Matt asks. “There’s got to be a trick, right?”

“No trick,” Andrew says. He picks up one of Matt’s balls in his free hand and throws it casually, carelessly; it lands dead centre.

Something froths lightly in the pit of Neil’s stomach, and he doesn’t think it’s the melon soda he had earlier.

Competency, he thinks. Competent people have always piqued his interest. Case in point: Kevin Day, who seems to have been summoned by the siren call of competitive games and pops up on Andrew’s left with a proposal to pitch their skills against each other.

Andrew looks him lazily up and down, then shrugs.

“You’re paying,” he says, and the game is on.

Neil watches, occasionally remembering to look away. Andrew and Kevin are as good at throwing as they are at bowling, almost matching each other for talent, but Andrew’s disinterest at the whole thing is more interesting to watch than Kevin’s crazed expression. Andrew hands Matt a stuffed elephant, who in turn immediately gives it to Dan, and when Andrew wins enough tokens for something else he points at Neil and then waves over the selection of toys. Neil steps up to stand next to him and says, “I don’t need anything.”

Andrew gives him a once over, like he’s analysing his personality, and then chooses a grey, floppy bunny. It’s about the size of Neil’s chest, and about as warm as it too, as Neil squeezes it lightly and grins at Andrew. “Well thanks.”

“What’s its name,” Andrew says, as he trades the last of his tokens for a pokemon keyring and Kevin trades his for the giant poop emoji cushion, much to Dan and Seth’s delight.

Neil looks at the bunny, wide-eyed and floppy eared, and holds it down at his side. “I’m not good with names.”

Andrew shrugs. “To be decided.”

Neil doesn’t have a bag on him, so the bunny gets carried around in his hand, usually held loosely by his side, though sometimes he lets the others hug and pet it. He leaves it behind in Seth’s capable care when Andrew is the only one willing to go on the flying pirate ship with him for a second time. They sit next to each other and Neil says, “Arrr,” and Andrew gives him a disparaging look. It’s fun.

They lose the others for a bit, as Neil wants to go in the haunted house, where they discover neither of them are particularly easy to scare, as Neil walks around with his hands in his pockets while ten years olds scream and laugh around them, and the house of mirrors, where Andrew points out the scar on Neil’s cheek in every mirror that surrounds them on an infinite mirror loop, and Neil says Andrew’s personality must be trapped inside the mirrors, and Andrew opens his mouth wide in an imitation of a scream that gets copied a hundred times and Neil takes a photo.

The sun is setting when they find the others. Aaron says, “Me and Katelyn are going on the Ferris wheel.”

Seth throws a piece of popcorn at him. “Gross,” he says.

“Very heterosexual,” Renee agrees.

Allison raises an eyebrow at Neil, who wiggles his back.

Matt uses his height advantage to sweep Dan off her feet, elephant balancing in her arms. “Wanna?”

“You’re genuinely not at all what I’d imagined my life to turn out as,” Dan says, managing to sound both disgusted and sweet all at once. They follow Aaron and Katelyn away.

Seth says, “Called it,” even though Matt and Dan have been obvious for a month now, and Neil grins at him.

They’re sitting on a picnic bench, stealing Seth’s popcorn and Andrew’s doughnuts and discussing the possible merits of getting real food, when Neil is wondering whether he wants to go on the Ferris wheel. It looks fun, but it’s a pretty big one and he’s remembering the expression on Andrew’s face when everyone else went on the rollercoaster he avoided, the assessment in his gaze when he looked up at the pirate ride and agreed to go on it with Neil. He stands up to go sit next to Andrew and says, “Are you afraid of heights?”

Andrew’s face is turned in a different direction, staring off into the distance. “Yes,” he answers shortly. Neil follows his gaze to a group of men in front of the sweet stand. One of them keeps looking back at Andrew and smirking.

“Oh,” says Neil. “Sorry.” He feels hot and stupid and turns back to talk to the group. Andrew freezes next to him, and Neil says loudly, “I’m gonna get a hot dog,” and starts to stand. Jean gets up too, a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder before they walk off together.

The two of them have never spent any real time together, but Neil feels good for the companionable silence. He’s embarrassed for interrupting Andrew’s – whatever – and desperate for anything else. He says, “So, Jean,” and then has nothing to follow it up with. He’s never been the best at this. Then he scowls, “People are impossible.”

Jean laughs. It’s short, and kind of low, but Neil’s never heard it before. He looks up at him as they walk. Jean says, “Yeah,” kind of wistfully, and then they don’t talk again, paying for their hot dogs and getting one for Jeremy too with everything on it.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Neil asks, just before they get back to the group. Jean’s steps falter for a moment before picking back up.

“Jeremy? No,” he says, something bitterly amused in the curl of his mouth.

“Hmm,” Neil says, trying to figure it out. They’re always touching each other, he’s noticed. And there’s that look, the one Jean is doing right now. Neil makes a guess: “Do you want him to be?”

“You know, I was enjoying this comfortable silence we had going,” Jean tells him wryly.

“Sorry,” Neil grins, taking a bite out of his hot dog. “So?”

Jean huffs, and they stop just out of earshot of the group. Andrew’s gone, but Neil tries not to think about where he likely disappeared to. The question of Jean’s love life seems like a perfect distraction.

“He’s clearly into you,” Neil presses. “He looks at you like…” He riffles through his mind for an expression and recalls something Allison had said once: “He wants to climb you like a tree.”

Jean chokes a little on his hot dog, leaving a smear of mustard along his chin. He looks so dismayed that Neil offers to hold Jeremy’s hot dog while Jean wipes himself clean with his napkin.

“If you really must know,” Jean says stiffly when he’s done, “he does. But I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Want to be climbed like a tree,” Jean repeats, grimacing.

“Like, in general?” Neil asks. “Or by Jeremy specifically?”

“In general,” Jean says reluctantly. He looks like he expects Neil to argue with that, but Neil merely shrugs.

“What about the rest?” he asks.

“The rest?”

“Yeah, like. Being in a relationship isn’t all about tree climbing,” Neil says.

“Isn’t it?” Jean asks. He looks half resigned, half curious.

Neil shrugs again and stuffs the rest of his hot dog in his mouth, then holds up Jeremy’s.

“That’s getting cold,” he says.

Jean shoots him a look, and ok, maybe Neil shouldn’t go around poking into other people’s personal lives if he’s not prepared to talk about his own, but. He just doesn’t feel like going into it right now.

It’s not as clear cut for him as it seems to be for Jean, anyway. Neil doesn’t actively  _ not  _ want sex or love, he just… also doesn’t actively want it.

Neutral. He’s kind of neutral.

Maybe one day. If he meets the right person.

Jean takes the hot dog to Jeremy, who smiles and says something to him that makes Jean look immensely fond, in an immensely pained way. Neil glances away and doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He turns a slow circle, stuffs his sticky hands in his pockets. Andrew still hasn’t come back. Dan is lying on the bench with her head in Matt’s lap, talking to Renee while Allison is braiding daisies into Renee’s hair. Kevin and Seth are listening intently to some band on Seth’s phone.

He wanders off. Evening is dozing in the grass and the crowds have thinned a little bit, the sky is smeared candy apple pink and mustard yellow. Neil feels weary and tacky with sweat, but not yet ready to go home.

He stops outside the bumper car rink and watches the mayhem for a while, lost in thought. Recalls a conversation he had with Kevin once, the way Kevin had kind of scrunched his nose at the concept of romance and gone on to talk about things he thought were more important in life. Neil knows Kevin sometimes hooks up with people, just like Andrew is doing, to scratch some itch Neil doesn’t seem to be having. Or, at least not in the same way.

Whatever.

As usual, he blames his fucked up childhood and youth and goes to get a ticket for the bumper cars. Ramming a tiny vehicle into other tiny vehicles seems like the best way to let go of his frustration right now. He’s waiting in line when Andrew suddenly pops up by his side, looking pristine and shiny-eyed and holding up two tickets with a quirk of his brow.

“Where did you get those?”

“Let’s go.” Andrew walks up to the slowing-down bumper cars and hops up on the step to be first in line. Neil trails after him, watching to see if he seems any different. He doesn’t, actually.

They climb into separate cars and Neil lets go of every frustrating thought he has with each ram of his car. Andrew drives after him with menace, and Neil laughs every time he doesn’t quite make it away in time.

Afterwards, they lean against a tree, a lamppost, the bumper cars in one eye and their group in the other, half of them still lounging on the picnic bench, the other half disappeared for some adventure.

Neil scuffs the roots at his feet. “What’s it like, with the different guys?” he asks.

If Andrew is surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. He replies, easily, “Sex, you mean.”

“Casual sex.” Neil looks up, but not at Andrew. He watches as Seth holds his bunny up on the table, leaned forward as if it’s sipping at Kevin’s drink. Dan’s elephant is having a conversation with Kevin, the poop emoji cushion making a nice pillow for Matt’s head.

“I take it you’re above that sort of thing.”

“No, I just… don’t. Do that.” Neil doesn’t mean his words to sound judgemental, he really doesn’t, he just doesn’t get it, feels frustrated by the gap.

Andrew hums next to him. They’re still not looking at each other. Neil isn’t sure he can have this conversation  _ and  _ look him in the eye. He remembers something Jeremy said once about how being vulnerable is easier with alcohol. Thinks he can see the appeal for once.

“It’s nothing,” Andrew says eventually, and Neil’s about to retort that that isn’t helpful at all when Andrew adds, “It’s just like anything else. A way to get off. A way to pass the time. Fairgrounds, or bowling, buying records, going to gigs. Sex.” Neil looks at him. Andrew is staring off into the distance, fingers twitching by his pockets like he wants one of the rare cigarettes he allows himself. “Drinking water.”

“Did you just equate having sex to drinking water?”

Andrew looks at him like he’s stupid, like actually that’s a perfectly reasonable comparison. Neil feels hot and embarrassed again, frowns and turns his head away sharply. “I mean,” he says, “you need one of those to live.”

“Exactly,” Andrew says, waving his hand in Neil’s peripheral vision. “I can always just drink milkshakes.”

Neil looks back at Andrew’s serious expression and is startled into a laugh. When he’s done, and Andrew is watching him, amused, Neil says, “Milkshakes have water in.”

Andrew pushes away from the lamppost, so Neil falls in step with him as they make their way back to the group. “No they don’t, they’re  _ milk _ shakes.”

“Milk has water in.”

“Does it?”

When they sit down, Neil with his legs under the table, Andrew cross-legged on top of it, they google  _ water content in milk  _ and  _ can you survive on milk _ and  _ how much sugar is too much sugar  _ and then they play one-word stories with the others until Renee, Allison, Jean and Jeremy return from their fifth rollercoaster of the day, and something warm and heavy and shivery is crawling up Neil’s body when he looks at Andrew tying and untying his own shoelaces, at Jean and Jeremy’s mistimed glances, at Seth and Kevin practising some complicated handshake, at Matt telling Renee and Allison his favourite joke as Dan supplies him with the right words when he forgets parts of it, and he watches Andrew’s hands making complicated movements over his boots until Jeremy declares with a yawn that he’s too tired to even smile.

-

Neil spends the days he’s not working at the bowling alley – it’s only a part-time job, it’s not like he needs the money – wandering around the house, going for runs, watching the time, wondering when people are coming home. He tries to work out when exactly he’d become reliant on this: on watching movies with Seth and Matt, stealing Renee’s self-described trashy crime books to read, working out in the garden with Dan, sitting on the counter in the kitchen listening to music while Andrew mostly cooks when it’s Neil’s turn to make dinner. 

One day Andrew says, tight and out of nowhere, “What do you mean you like basically nothing?”

Neil shrugs, one foot tapping the cupboard beneath him traitorously. “I’ve just never really got anything out of music.” Andrew glares at him, and returns to chopping the fish that Neil is making everyone. Neil says, “Tell me why you like it.”

Andrew is silent for a minute, then a pleased expression comes over him, and he places the fish in the frying pan, washes his hands and reaches for his phone, changing the music on the bluetooth speaker to something Neil could only describe as both rocky and jazzy. Andrew returns to the cooker but now his hips are swaying, his hands chopping rosemary in time to the beat, and there’s a smirk on his face, and after a minute Neil has to look away.

Neil spends the days he’s working at the bowling alley cleaning shoes or counters or tables, selling tickets and merchandise and, on one busy occasion, alcohol at the bar – an occasion he doesn’t think his boss will repeat as he’d challenged one customer to prove gin and vodka were different enough to warrant correcting. 

When he gets home that night he says the same thing to Dan, and is promptly subjected to an evening of spirit tasting. He hates all of them equally, so it hadn’t helped at all, and small sips of a whole range of spirits is enough to make him feel a little woozy. Andrew lets him lean against him on the sofa until everything stops spinning. Neil stays a bit longer.

“I smell booze,” Seth announces, bursting into the living room and throwing himself down in an armchair. Then he squints. “Matt, is your son drinking?”

“Little bit,” Matt says cheerfully, patting Neil’s leg.

Neil thinks back a bit mournfully to when alcohol was his version of painkillers, anesthetics, or even just warmth on a cold day. Not that he had it often, or liked it more; but his tolerance had been higher then.

“This calls for a game,” Seth decides, pouring himself a generous measure of white rum.

“I’m not drinking any more,” Neil says around a heavy tongue.

“Doesn’t matter,” Seth says. “We’re playing anyway.”

Renee brings Neil a glass of water while Seth sorts through the bottles of spirits Dan dug out. Andrew is nursing a sensible amount of whisky, holding the glass more than he’s drinking from it, and Renee has a cup of herbal tea for herself.

“Never Have I Ever?” Dan suggests with a wicked smile. “Everyone who’s done the thing has to take a sip of their drink, whatever it is.”

“None of that boring shit though,” Seth grunts, kicking back with his glass. “We’re not in fucking high school anymore.”

“No, but we are fucking,” Dan grins.

“Hear hear,” Matt says, clacking his beer against Dan’s shot of tequila.

“That’s the spirit,” Seth leers.

Neil doesn’t point out that he is not, in fact, fucking. He’s still leaning against Andrew’s shoulder, twisting his glass in his hands. Andrew smells like baking – he made peanut butter and jelly cupcakes earlier, though half of them are already gone. He also smells like something Neil can’t define, but has come to associate with Andrew.

It’s just. Good. Really, really good.

“Never have I ever given head to a guy,” Seth starts off.

Dan, Matt and Andrew all drink. Neil kind of wants some water, but he hasn’t ever given head to a guy, so he doesn’t.

“Is that really all you got?” Dan challenges Seth. “Let’s spice this up a little. Never have I ever had sex in a public place.”

She gets Seth and Andrew in this round, to no one’s surprise, but Renee also takes a sip of her tea after a moment of hesitation.

“Renee!” Dan gasps, clutching at her heart, “you saucy minx. Spill the juicy details.”

“I bet it was in church,” Seth crows. Renee grimaces and tucks her feet underneath herself.

“Skinny-dipping,” is all she says with an apologetic smile.

They go through a few more, all not applicable to Neil, who starts to get bored and more and more thirsty. He zones out a bit over a discussion of handcuffs, but he can still feel Andrew’s arm lifting his glass every time he takes a drink.

“Neil is being suspiciously quiet,” Dan says, pulling him back into the game. “Hang on, I just wanna check. Never have I ever had sex.”

“Uh, I think that one’s a no-brainer-” Seth tries, but Dan shushes him. All eyes turn to Neil, who looks down at his water and tries to swallow against the sudden weirdness in his throat.

It’s a simple question.

Has he had sex?

Several different answers descend on him at once. Yes. No. Maybe. Halfway. Yes but it doesn’t count, not really, because they never finished, or maybe it does count, because technically he did come, but-

He drinks.

“Ok,” Dan says, “ok, we can work with that. Seth, help me out.”

“Never have I ever been fucked by a guy,” Seth says right away.

Again, Neil has to blink away the spots swimming in his vision pretending to be tiny fish in his water glass.

This time he’s pretty sure it doesn’t count if the guy didn’t even make it in past the-

He doesn’t drink. 

The others seem to have forgotten their own drinks.

“Never have I ever touched a woman sexually,” Andrew says, slowly and deliberately.

Neil doesn’t drink.

Andrew’s eyes feel heavy on him, even though Neil is looking studiously at the carpet.

“Never have I ever specifically targeted one member of the group during a drinking game to find out their sexual history,” Renee says, somewhat sharply, into the silence.

To their credit, Matt and Dan look guilty and both take a drink. Seth clears his throat. Andrew is still looking at Neil.

Never has Neil ever felt more uncomfortable in his life.

He clears his throat and gets up.

“I’m going to bed,” he says.

Andrew gets up, too.

“Neil-” Dan tries, but Neil flees before she can say anything else.

He can hear Andrew on the stairs behind him, but he still goes straight into his bedroom and shuts his door. A bit dramatic, maybe, but he needs the distance right now. He straightens the bunny on his box, grabs his squeezy ball, flops back onto his bed and closes his eyes. He feels stupid for feeling so uncomfortable. Why couldn’t he just say it? Jean is asexual, Kevin is probably aromantic. Not that everyone knows that, but they don’t exactly hide it. Why can’t Neil say he might be those things too?

He squeezes the ball, chucks it up and down a few times. Feels it soft and unrelenting in his fingertips.

Neil hears Andrew shower, trains his eyes on the ceiling and listens to the pulsation of water through the pipes, to the distant dripping onto tile and glass. He lets one hand trail over to the bunny, drops the ball and instead curves his fingers over the soft fur. With his other hand he fiddles with his phone. Sees he has a message from Matt,  _ sorry dude. are you ok? I should have-,  _ and turns it off without reading the rest of the message.

Sometime later there’s knock on Neil’s door, and all he does is remove his hand from the bunny and place it over his chest instead before he says, “Yeah?”

The door opens and Andrew leans against the frame. He’s in grey checked pyjama pants and a tight black tank top. Neil sits up, feeling grouchy.

Andrew says, “Are you sulking?”

“No.”

Andrew moves gingerly into Neil’s bedroom, and looks around. “I can’t believe you still haven’t done anything in here.”

“Hey,” says Neil, looking defensively at the chair Andrew throws himself into uninvited, the speakers he’s yet to use and his line of boxes. “It’s… fine.”

“Ok.” Andrew turns his head and spots the bunny on the box by Neil’s bed, and smirks. Neil looks away, looking down at his dead phone as Andrew picks it up and holds it on his lap. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says finally.

“I’m not – don’t.”

“Ok.” Andrew looks at him until Neil meets his eye, and when he does Andrew’s gaze is steady, holds him in a place where he feels surprisingly uncaring about his messy history, messy personality, messy non-existent sex life. Then Andrew quirks an eyebrow and makes the bunny shuffle forward on his lap. He stands up, still walking it through the air, and then ruffles it in Neil’s hair. Neil catches it and pulls it away, trying desperately not to smile.

Andrew smiles back and leaves the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smirk -hedy&moonix x

Once Neil starts paying attention to it, he can’t really  _ not  _ pay attention to it.

He goes to a gig with Seth and Andrew. Seth wordlessly hands him a pair of earplugs and Neil makes it five minutes before he unwraps them and stuffs them into his ears: loud seems to be the music genre for tonight.

He’s standing to the side, kind of bopping along a little awkwardly, nursing a soda and watching Seth throw his all into headbanging. When Andrew slips away and starts – well, not talking to, because the music is so loud, but – intensely eye-fucking some pretty redhead at the bar, Neil is watching that, too. He watches as Andrew steps closer, raises an eyebrow. Looks toward the bathrooms. Curls his fingers into the guy’s belt loop and pulls.

He watches as they disappear through the door.

It’s curiosity, is all. That nagging thing in his chest. He smooths his hand down his shirt – some band t-shirt Seth shrunk in the wash and dropped on top of Neil’s folded laundry, because apparently he adopted Allison’s habit of foisting her cast-offs on him. It’s a nice shirt though, soft from too much washing, the logo faded; most likely the band doesn’t even exist anymore.

It’s so easy for Andrew. It  _ looks  _ so easy for Andrew, Neil corrects; he doesn’t actually know if it is.

Neil feels a little like he’s in some parallel universe, riding a different wavelength than everyone else. Then he shakes himself off, puts his soda down and goes to join Seth at the front.

-

The next time it happens, Andrew comes home one night after work with a one-night stand in tow. Neil is only up because he can’t sleep and wants a glass of water, and he nearly runs into them on the stairs.

Andrew ushers the guy through into his room, then looks back at Neil and mimes putting in earphones with a smirk.

Neil feels warm down to his toes and practically throws himself at his bed, scrabbling for his headphones. When he finds them, they’re tangled to all hell and he has to spend a few minutes trying to unravel them in the dark. By the time he’s got them sorted out, his phone has vanished into the crack between the bedframe and the mattress and he has to stick his arm in there and pat around for it.

Next door is very quiet.

When Neil finally has his phone, he discovers that the battery is dead. He thunks his head back against the pillow and sighs. It’s not like he’s going to need it, if Andrew and his guy of the week are this quiet.

It’s probably fine.

Neil’s almost drifting off, in fact, when he hears the first thump against the wall. Not the shared wall, he’s seen Andrew’s room with the door open and knows his bed is against the opposite wall. But he still hears it. The thump, and then a cut-off moan.

He sits up abruptly, then lays back down again. Closes his eyes. Thinks if he could just sleep…

But then he hears it again. Something higher-pitched than he’d expect from Andrew. Something cracked and desperate. And then a grunt, another thud…

Neil’s eyes slam open. His heart is racing, and he has no idea why. It’s not  _ his  _ fault Andrew’s having loud sex next door. He plugs his phone in, and holds his earphones to his chest, at the ready for when it has enough charge. Closes his eyes, and resigns himself to the fact that he’s going to listen to Andrew having sex.

He wonders if Andrew knows this guy’s name. He looked tall, dark-haired, not what Neil would have pictured. Not that he’s pictured Andrew with guys. In his dreams, sometimes, sure, but he’s heard that’s normal. It’s not like he can control it. Like even now, picturing it feels like something that just happens, and he wonders if they’re below the sheets, if Andrew is the owner of those grunts, if he’s the one pushing the other guy into the headboard over, and over, and over again. Neil gives in, lets his hand drift under his sweatpants and just touches himself gently, doesn’t really think about getting off. Just listens, and strokes slowly, wonders if the guy knows Andrew’s name, if he’ll shout it into the bedroom, if he’ll touch Andrew’s hair.

They’ve been quiet for some time when Neil realises he’s drifting off. He takes his hand out of his pants, turns the light off, and falls asleep to the image of Andrew smirking at someone who isn’t him.

-

He gets Jean’s number by texting Kevin, who replies with the number and a terse  _ why.  _ Neil replies  _ shop talk  _ and doesn’t answer any of the increasingly irate follow up texts.

They meet at a coffee shop, Neil’s favourite, and he’s already bought two hot chocolates to fight off the October chill when Jean arrives and sits down. He raises his eyebrows, as if surprised someone’s done something nice for him, and says, “Thank you.”

“Do you masturbate?” asks Neil.

Jean blinks at him, and lifts his mug to his lips, blows gently on the froth, and peels off a marshmallow to eat. Once he’s finished chewing his marshmallow and set his mug back down he says, “Yes. Sometimes.”

“Ok,” says Neil. He looks around the coffee shop, watching people unwinding scarves and hats and wishing for once that he owned nice things.

Jean says, after a minute, “Do you?”

“Yes. Sometimes,” replies Neil.

“Right. I don’t wish to be rude, but are we having this conversation for a reason?”

“I don’t normally…” Neil stops. Frowns down at his mug. “Think about someone else. While I’m… you know.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

He forces himself to meet Jean’s eye, leans back and waits for his answer. He wants to exude a sense of  _ we’re friends and we’re the same  _ but isn’t sure how to do it. He’s hoping Jean gets it anyway. 

Jean is silent for a moment, and Neil thinks he’s giving his question thought, which he appreciates, so he sips his hot chocolate and waits. Jean looks at him again and says, “No, not really. Sometimes by accident, it feels like, people will pop in. Mostly I think of nothing, or situations. The act itself.”

“Right,” says Neil, shrinking into his chair and feeling weirdly disappointed.

“Are you thinking about the same person every time?” Jean says, something casual in his expression.

Neil doesn’t answer that.

Jean nods and changes the topic to exy for a while. He and Jeremy and Kevin want to host the game at their place that Saturday, and Neil is keen, both for the 60” screen and the change in topic.

He says, “Speaking of Jeremy...”

“You have the weirdest conversational style,” Jean notes, but it’s with a smile on his face that he tries to cover by drinking.

“Evasive.”

“Speaking of Jeremy, what,” says Jean resignedly.

“Do you want anything?”

Neil doesn’t know why he’s so interested. He’s not, really. Other people’s relationships have never felt like his business, he’s happy if his friends are happy, and that’s it really. And he’s decided Jean is his friend, so maybe that’s all it is. Except, he also feels like maybe they’re the same, and he’s just so curious. He’s never spoken to anyone about this before.

He’s gripping his mug a little hard when Jean sighs and pushes his mug away and crosses his arms. “I told you, it could not be more irrelevant. I do not want what he wants.”

“But – maybe he wants what you want?” says Neil, feeling confused himself but knowing there’s something here. Jean cocks his head and Neil leans forward. “Like, you could be together without sex, couldn’t you?”

Jean frowns. “Why would he want that?”

Neil shrugs, because he wants to comfort Jean but doesn’t know the answer. He thinks maybe he would be capable of wanting something like that.

“If you think you might want  _ something _ , you should tell him,” says Neil, more confidently than he feels.

“Hmm,” says Jean, staring into his empty mug. “And you?” he asks, looking up. 

Neil squeezes his lips together, then says, “I don’t know.”

“It’s,” Jean says, wiping a finger around the rim of his mug, “hard. To tell, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Neil replies, “I guess.”

He’s not sure, though. Maybe it’s just that he’s never felt it before, so now he keeps second-guessing every little spark and stir. Like he’s never seen the colour red and now everywhere he looks he thinks there might be a smudge of it when it’s really just orange or pink.

Maybe he’s overthinking.

“Have you ever tried it,” he blurts out.

“Sex?” Jean asks. “Or a relationship?”

“Yes,” Neil says.

Jean fiddles with the collar of his navy shirt.

“Yes,” he says at last.

“And?”

“I did not like the sex, and the other person did not like the relationship without the sex. We ended it.”

“That’s fucked up,” Neil mutters, scowling at the pile of shredded paper that he’s reduced his napkin to.

“It is what it is,” Jean says. “Some people are just not compatible. There is no use pretending otherwise for the sake of keeping up pretences or not hurting feelings.”

“But what if you and Jeremy are?” Neil asks. “Compatible, I mean.”

Jean just shrugs. Looks down at his hand.

“I had sex, once,” Neil admits, because he might as well now that he’s told him all the rest, and the stupid drinking game is still lodged in his brain like a stubborn pebble in his shoe.

“And?” Jean mimics him.

“I didn’t like it either,” Neil says. “But it was kind of a mess, and in retrospect I think… I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready. I kind of just decided one day and rushed right in.”

He waves his hand around.

“Hmm,” Jean says. “Do you want to try again?”

“Maybe,” Neil says. It doesn’t feel bad, so he adds: “Yes. But with someone I trust, I guess.”

“Would this be the someone that you think about when you…?” Jean asks, with the hint of a smirk lurking in the corner of his mouth.

Neil coughs.

Thinks about Andrew fucking a guy next door, the muffled moans.

He must be good, if he does it so often.

Maybe he’d make it good for Neil, too.

“Snacks,” he says, before he can voice any of that out loud. “For Saturday. I was thinking, Andrew does these pizza rolls. They’re really good. I could ask him for the recipe?”

The smirk on Jean’s mouth unfolds for a moment, then he tucks it back in and they spend another couple of minutes discussing snacks and drinks, and then they go their separate ways.

-

Neil lets it percolate in his brain for a while.

Their last house bonding Tuesday of the month falls on Halloween, and the others let him invite Allison to their scary movie night. Andrew and Renee go to the farmer’s market and come back with enough pumpkins to feed a small army, and they all sit around the dining table, scooping out the seeds and carving faces into them.

Andrew is wedged into the chair next to Neil. Their elbows keep brushing and it sends little shivers of electricity through Neil.

Last night they had a weirdly intense conversation about their childhoods in the bathroom. Neil isn’t sure how that happened, but the memory of it rests like a hand on the back of his neck, warm and fuzzy and weighing him down in a good way.

“Neil, you’re like, scarily good at this,” Allison says, peering over at his pumpkin. He’s carved a Cheshire Cat face from one of the stencils Renee printed out. There are a lot of teeth. He just sort of zoned out while doing them, but he has to admit it does look pretty good.

When he looks up, Andrew is watching his hands.

He blinks out of it a moment later and Neil isn’t so sure anymore. He goes back to finishing the teeth, then grabs one of the LED candles to put inside the hollowed-out pumpkin.

“Nice,” Matt says, reaching over for a fist bump. His own pumpkin only has a few triangle holes and a larger slash for a mouth, but he made a token effort.

Once the pumpkins are prepped and lined up along the window sills, Neil’s in pride of place outside their front door, they settle in on the couch with bowls of candy corn, salted caramel popcorn and pumpkin spice Oreos to watch some scary movie that isn’t scary at all. Seth has dressed up as a blood-stained mummy and Matt and Dan are wearing matching pirate outfits, and Andrew has donned an all-white ensemble for the occasion rather than his customary dark colours, which is probably the most disconcerting. Occasionally one of them gets up to answer the door and distribute candy to the neighbourhood kids. Andrew gets banned after the first time because he ends up stealing more candy than he gives out, and Neil mumbles something about not being good with kids and stays firmly on the couch. 

He is having a grand old time critiquing the chainsaw massacre murderer’s chainsaw murder technique and educating everyone on how much blood an adult human can actually lose before they stop functioning. He’s leaning against Allison on one side and has somehow managed to convince Andrew to accept his feet in his lap. Seth boos and throws popcorn at the TV when his favourite character dies a gruesome death, and they take a break after the first movie so everyone can go to the bathroom, top up their drinks, or just walk around and stretch.

All of a sudden, Neil finds himself alone on the couch with Andrew.

He’s propped himself upright against the middle cushion, but his feet are still bent sideways in Andrew’s lap, and the next thing he knows Andrew is touching his foot, clad in a bright orange sock. Neil freezes, and Andrew says, thumb curling round the ball of his foot, “What did I say about orange.”

Neil watches, fascinated, as Andrew picks his finger over the white pumpkins on his ankle, and says, “Um. You probably said not to.”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“How can orange not suit my feet?” It’s all just words really. How can it be anything else when Andrew’s hand is touching him?

Andrew hums, and then Dan stumbles into the room with a bottle of wine, and pours some into Andrew’s glass, and then Seth is creeping in, doing his best impression of a chainsaw massacrist, and Dan and Andrew watch him with matching unimpressed expressions, and Matt and Renee have fresh bowls of popcorn, and someone has started the second movie, and Allison has popped herself next to Neil again, and Andrew’s hand is still resting on his foot.

Either no one notices, or no one says anything. It’s not a big deal, after all. Neil is getting better at this sort of thing: Matt has always been a big hugger, and Allison likes to fluff his hair or kiss him on the head, but these days he also finds himself the subject of Seth’s arm around his shoulders, or sat on the floor with everyone, knees touching, or Renee will sigh and lean against him, the two sober people in the room watching the others get drunk, or when he and Dan work out in the garden she’ll laugh and squeeze him on the shoulder. It happens a lot Neil’s realising now that he’s categorising all the small touches he’s come to regard as natural, easy, as he’s comparing them to the distilled feeling of Andrew slowly and methodically rubbing his little toe between his fingers.

Neil melts against Allison, who pops her head on top of his with a yawn, and half-listens to the others berating the movie, feigning tiredness with a stretch and shifting his feet so that Andrew moves his hand to his other foot.

He closes his eyes at one point, and when he opens them again it’s because Allison is shifting under him. “Sorry pumpkin,” she says, “time to go. I will leave you in Andrew’s excellent care.” Neil looks at her, but this doesn’t seem to have been said with any intended innuendo. She just kisses him on the head, and stands, elegant, hugs each of Neil’s friends in turn, waves at Andrew, and leaves.

“How does she do that,” Matt says.

“What?” Renee says, tucking a hair behind her ear and standing up to stretch.

“She always manages to leave before clean-up.”

“Hey, she has a gift,” Seth says. “Fuck it, let’s do this tomorrow.”

Dan waves a hand, sleepily, “Excellent suggestion. Matt. Carry.” Matt grins at her and does, indeed, carry her up the stairs.

Seth says to Renee, “Hot chocolate?” and they disappear into the kitchen. Andrew’s free hand finds the TV remote, and some late-night comedy, and mutes the volume. They watch in silence for a few minutes while listening to the distant sounds of Seth and Renee rattling around the kitchen. They emerge, discussing the episode of whatever they’re about to watch together, and say goodnight to Neil and Andrew, who ignore them entirely.

Neil hears a bedroom door shut, and the thud of his heart beating against his skin.

He thinks about how to bring it up, and then wonders if he’ll have to at all, as one of Andrew’s fingers has poked over the top of his sock and is trailing around the skin underneath.

As if hearing his thoughts, Andrew turns his head to look at him. His gaze rolls down Neil’s front like a bead of sweat, pooling near his groin.

They get up at the same time.

“Neil,” Andrew says, low, almost like a warning.

“Yes,” Neil says. He may not be sure about anything else, but he is sure about this yes, has been walking around with it sitting under his tongue for days, ready to slip out.

Andrew’s eyes search his face, then he steps closer. Neil stares him down, trying to inject a confidence into it he doesn’t really know how to feel. Andrew’s breath is warm on his face.

“You going to kiss me or what?” Neil murmurs, challenging. Looking from Andrew’s mouth to his eyes and back to his mouth.

Andrew licks his lips.

And kisses him.

And, yeah, Neil’s brain shuts down a little.

He’s dimly aware of Andrew walking him backwards, arranging him against the wall. The lights switch off, leaving only the flickering orange glow of the pumpkins, the needle glint of Andrew’s eyes in the dark. Neil is breathing fast. He lets himself be pinned to the wall, hands flat against it, as Andrew sets about gently dismantling him with his mouth. He tastes like salt and caramel, and his body is so warm and so close that Neil shivers every time one of them moves even the slightest bit. It feels like he has goosebumps all over, right down to his toes.

Andrew eases back to check, “Still yes?” and Neil has to take a moment to catch his breath and prod coherent sounds from his mouth.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yes. Keep going.”

Andrew looks at him, hand on his chin, then he curls his fingers around Neil’s wrists and places them on his shoulders. Then he kisses him again, teasing his mouth open with his tongue, and it really does feel easy as drinking water; as breathing air. Neil smooths his hands over the firm shape of Andrew’s shoulders, digs his fingers in either side of his spine. Follows the trail up to the soft skin of Andrew’s neck and traces the bump of a vertebra until Andrew shivers and bites his lip.

“No?” Neil checks, pushing his head back against the wall and squeezing the word into the sliver of space between them, hands stilling.

“No,” Andrew growls, low and ragged, “yes. Shut up.”

Neil hums an amused sound and lets himself be kissed more, touched more. He’s almost surprised to realise that he’s hard where Andrew is pressed against him. Andrew rolls his hips experimentally against him and Neil shudders with his whole body. He feels alight and oversensitive, flickery like one of the candles, his skin prickling where one of Andrew’s hands is questing underneath the hem of his shirt.

And. That. Maybe needs to stop.

He catches Andrew’s hand, but instead of pulling it away, he redirects it. Andrew pops the button on his jeans like a question mark and Neil nods messily against his lips. He doesn’t want to think about scars and stuff right now, but he does want Andrew’s hand in his pants. Briefly, he thinks he should have worn nicer underwear – then Andrew’s hand is cupping him through the fabric, wedged between his jeans and his boxers, and Neil can’t stifle the sigh or the needy uptick of his hips.

Andrew’s fingers aren’t even touching his skin, and this is already nothing like it’s felt before. Andrew is rock solid against him, all broad shoulders and warm tongue and Neil melts into the wall behind him. When Andrew pulls away to breathe, his hand still moving over Neil’s boxers, Neil says, “I might be bad at this.”

Andrew makes a clucking sound. Disbelief? Annoyance? And moves one hand to cup the back of Neil’s head, kisses him with renewed urgency, his other hand pinging at the waistband of Neil’s boxers, a question. Neil just nods, and Andrew’s hand slips inside, and curls around him, and Neil’s head hits the wall.

They don’t say anything else. Neil’s head falls forward so that it’s resting against the pale curve of Andrew’s neck, and he mouths at it, kisses and nips gently, and Andrew speeds up, and slows down, removes his hand entirely to grind against him only to replace it again. Neil squeezes Andrew’s shoulders, pulls him against him when he gets too far away. Feels something rising inside him, like he’s going to bubble over, and he gasps against Andrew’s skin. Andrew pulls his head away and licks into Neil’s mouth, speeds up his hand like he knows somehow before Neil does that this is the end, and then Neil moans into his mouth and feels the rising tide crest over him, spilling everywhere, spilling into Andrew’s hand, into his mouth, against his skin, until it’s all panted breaths into the silence.

Neil’s mind is everywhere and nowhere at once. He feels giddy. He runs his fingers over Andrew’s groin, a question, and Andrew gently removes his hand and just kisses him, lazy, unhurried, while undoing his own jeans and slipping a hand inside. And that’s hot. Neil keeps his eyes closed, listening to the rustling, Andrew’s breath speeding up, feels half-drunk and half-asleep, slips one hand over Andrew’s shoulder and under the collar, picks his way over warm trembling skin. His heart is still slowing down but it’s hard to tell because Andrew’s is beating hard against his chest, into his mouth, and finally he feels Andrew shudder against him, captures a grunt with his tongue, grins against Andrew’s sagging mouth as he pulls away and leans his head on the wall over Neil’s shoulder.

They stand there for a few minutes longer, not really hugging, Andrew’s entire body against him, one hand on his hip, the other bracing himself against the wall, Neil’s still around Andrew’s shoulders, breathing into his neck.

Then Andrew pulls his head up, and stares into Neil’s eyes, roaming around his face, before smirking at him, and kissing him again. Soft, and brief, before pushing away, before pulling at his hand as they get a glass of water each, and kiss against the kitchen counter, and move silently up the stairs, and close their bedroom doors behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neil "do you masturbate" josten winning hearts, minds, and sexy times xxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are steaming up dearies, we love that you loved it so far and hope this chapter continues to bring delight xxx

The next day, Andrew shows up at the bowling alley while Neil works.

Neil has been in a weird daze all morning. He slept in longer than usual, skipped his morning run, forgot to have breakfast and went straight to work. It’s a quiet day and he’s mostly just staring at the wall.

“You left your lunch at home,” Andrew says, setting a bag down on the counter. “I threw it away because I thought Seth had put his garbage in the fridge again. Do you even know how to make a sandwich?”

“Hey,” Neil says. His sandwich had not been  _ that  _ sad – he just didn’t feel like eating any of the things he’d been planning to put on it.

“Anyway,” Andrew says, and starts unpacking the bag. There’s a couple of wraps, cut artfully in half, with what looks like chicken salad. A shiny red apple, a thing of grapes. Two slices of leftover pumpkin pie and a few cookies.

“Um,” Neil says, as Andrew hauls himself up onto the counter and starts eating his pumpkin pie first. “You really didn’t have to. I mean, there’s food here.”

Andrew snorts.

“Frozen hamburgers and cold fries,” he scoffs.

Neil picks at his wrap. He feels hot and stuffy, like he’s filled with static. All he can think about is Andrew’s little smirk from last night and how he’d kissed him again after.

After.

The thing.

God.  _ God _ . Neil stuffs his wrap in his mouth and nearly bites his cheek in his haste to chew. He can’t look at Andrew, so he watches the dust motes spinning in the air instead.

They finish their lunch in silence, and then Andrew hops off the counter.

“Are you working today?” Neil asks, fiddling with a wrapper.

“Nope,” Andrew says. “Got a gig tonight.”

“Right,” Neil says. He wants to ask if he can come, but somehow he’s shy all of a sudden.

“Neil,” Andrew says, “look at me.”

Neil looks at him.

“Nothing has changed,” Andrew tells him, with such certainty that Neil can’t help but believe it. “Just because we got off together.”

“Right,” Neil says again. “No, yeah. I mean. I don’t want it to. Change, that is.”

“Good,” Andrew says. Taps his fingers against the counter. Then he says: “We can do it again, some time. If you want.”

Heat squirms and bubbles in his stomach, like milk boiling over.

“Yeah?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” Andrew says. “Like I said. It doesn’t change anything. It’s just sex.”

“Sure,” Neil says, “ok.”

Andrew looks at him a moment longer, still tapping his fingers. Then he stuffs the wrappers into the bag and throws it in the direction of the trash can without looking. It lands perfectly, of course.

“What are you going to cook tonight?” he asks. It’s a joke; Neil has so far relied on Andrew or Matt to help him cook every time it was his turn.

Somehow, though, Neil wants to try doing it on his own today, so he just shrugs.

“Any requests? Before your gig?”

Andrew thinks, then says: “Pasta.”

Neil nods. Andrew nods. They just stand there for a second, then Andrew pushes off, gives him a little salute, and leaves.

-

When he gets home, no one’s in the kitchen, but there’s a hastily scrawled recipe on the counter for some relatively easy-looking tomato sauce. Neil smiles down at it, and grabs the tomatoes.

“Is it ok?” Neil asks, when the six of them are stuffed into chairs and the sofa and someone has put something crappy on the tv that no one’s paying attention to.

Matt grins. “Pasta and tomato sauce. I’m impressed.”

“Molto bene,” says Dan in a flat American accent.

“It’s very good, Neil,” says Renee.

Neil grins. “Good. No one helped.”

“No!” gasps Seth in mock-surprise. “Aw, our kid’s all grown up.”

Andrew’s shovelling in his food, and Neil knows he’s in a bit of a hurry. Ok so maybe it took him longer to cook dinner than it would have anyone else, but he’s proud of what he’s made. He grates a bit more cheese on then notices the others hurrying too.

Andrew stands and says, “I’m leaving in ten,” as much an invitation as anyone will get, and studiously doesn’t look at Neil as he goes upstairs. He doesn’t know if that means he wants him to come or doesn’t want him to come. Neil eats his pasta slowly.

“Are you guys going?” Renee asks Matt and Dan, as Seth puts his coat on.

“Yep,” Matt says, “it’s rock night, should be pretty easy, won’t be up too late. Come with us.” He says it so easily, and sometimes Neil remembers he’s still an outsider, that these people knew each other before he did, especially at Renee’s smile and nod as she stands to get ready.

Neil takes the scattered bowls and dumps them in the kitchen sink, wiping his hand on a towel and thinking.

Seth comes in after him and looks down at his phone as he says, “You coming?”

“Oh,” says Neil. “No, I don’t think so. I wasn’t invited.”

Seth looks up at that, frowning. “No one was. It’s an open thing, man.  _ I’m _ fucking inviting you. You’re coming, right?”

Neil says, “I’m pretty tired,” knowing it’s only 7pm, knowing it’s a Friday. Knowing he’s fucked.

Seth starts to say something when Andrew appears and says, “Let’s go. Is he coming?” without looking at Neil.

Seth shrugs, “Nah he’s bailing. I’m ready,” and turns to go.

Andrew looks at Neil. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” says Neil.

Andrew keeps looking at him. And then he leaves.

And then the house is empty, and silent, and Neil feels abruptly kind of awful.

This isn’t the first time he’s been alone here, but it’s the first time he’s been alone and regretted it.

He takes his phone out and texts Kevin.

-

He meets them in a bar half-way between their houses, lets Kevin buy him a soda. Jeremy and Jean are there, and two girls Neil hasn’t met yet, but he makes an effort to remember their names. They get some nachos to share and Neil picks at them, not really hungry after his dinner and drifting among the easy conversation like debris. Jean shoots him a questioning look across the table and Neil shrugs, then thinks better of it; motions toward the door and slides off his seat.

They go outside and Jean settles against the wall next to him. He pulls out a small, battered tin of clove cigarettes and offers it to Neil.

“Ah, no,” Neil says. “But go ahead.”

Jean shrugs and lights one, turns his head away from Neil and purses his mouth around the smoke, exhaling slowly.

Neil rubs a hand over his face and leans his head back against the wall.

“I,” he says. “I kind of. Hooked up with someone.”

“Huh,” Jean says, blowing out more smoke. He’s a lot taller than Neil, though it doesn’t feel that way with how he’s always kind of hunching in on himself. His wrists are thin and bony, his dark chequered shirt hangs loosely off them. “And? How was it?”

“Good,” Neil says slowly. Lets out a breath as if it’s smoke.

“But?”

“No but,” Neil says, a bit too quickly. Thinks of Andrew at his gig, of not being asked to come, of “just sex,” of Andrew maybe finding a stranger after and doing the same with them as he did with Neil last night.

“Good,” Jean echoes, with the same slowness.

“I don’t think I’d want to do it with anyone else, though,” Neil tacks on.

“Hmm,” Jean makes. “And this special someone?”

“I kind of want to do it again. I don’t really know why.” Andrew’s face, and smirk, and arms, and hands come to mind and he rubs the back of his neck and says, “Well, I do know why.”

Jean laughs, and Neil grins, and Jean says, “I’m happy for you.”

They stand there in silence while Jean finishes the rest of his cigarette, and he grinds it out against the wall as he says, “May the great experiment continue. What’s the harm?”

Neil hums. Tries to think about the question as they head back inside but Jeremy is giving him an odd look as he sits down, and then looks at Jean, and then looks away.

-

Neil gets home before the others, and lays fully-clothed on his bed. Bunny lives in the corner of his bed now, and he stares at it for a while before fiddling with his phone, and then the speakers, connecting them up and trying to find the album Andrew had saved on his phone. When he finds it and presses play something light, acoustic and ethereal comes out of the speakers. Something with guitars, sad and peaceful. He lies back again and closes his eyes.

He jumps awake when there’s a soft knock on the door and sits up in a rush. “Yeah?” he calls, heart beating a little in his chest but fading away with the burn of a dream behind his eyelids. His mother, maybe. He rubs his eyes.

When he stops Andrew is in his doorway, looking – hot. He must have done his makeup at the club. His eyes are all smoky black and his clothes are simple – vest top, armbands, skinny jeans. But Neil smiles, small and tired and says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” says Andrew. He leans against the doorway, looks deliberately at the speakers, then back at Neil. “What do you think?”

“I fell asleep,” Neil admits.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “No taste.”

“Actually it’s kind of nice. Makes me feel… peaceful?” Neil feels like an idiot, searching for the right words, but Andrew nods. They stare at each other for a minute, then Neil says, “How was the gig?”

Andrew’s eyes are intense when he says, “Boring. Am I coming in?”

And Neil nods and then the door is shut behind Andrew and he’s shoving his boots off and crawling over Neil on the bed, and Neil pulls him down by the shoulders and kisses him. “Hi,” he murmurs into Andrew’s mouth.

“Were you waiting for me?” asks Andrew, shoving a hand up Neil’s sweatshirt. Neil sucks in a breath as Andrew’s fingers dance up his torso, feeling over his scars unhesitatingly, smoothing his palm over Neil’s skin like he’s been wanting to do this. Neil closes his eyes. If Andrew’s going to ignore the scars he will too. 

He says, “Maybe.”

Andrew makes a pleased sound and latches onto his neck. Sucks and says, “Do you have anything you don’t want me to do?” around the sounds of marking Neil’s neck.

Neil shakes his head, eyes closed, hands scrabbling around Andrew’s hair, hips pressing up desperately as Andrew’s grind down onto his. “I don’t know.”

Andrew removes his mouth and kisses Neil, and between kisses says, “Work it out. I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

Neil says, “Ok,” and pants for breath, and kisses him, and says, “You too.”

Andrew looks hotly at him for a moment, then grinds down again, slow and steady and sure. Neil still feels fuzzy from sleep and so, so warm. He pulls Andrew down into another kiss and they just rock languidly against each other, making Neil’s bed creak a little. Neil widens his legs, lifts one foot up and hooks it around Andrew’s side to press him closer.

“Needy,” Andrew mumbles sloppily against his lips, but he sounds pleased about it, so Neil just bucks up against him in response. True to his contrary nature, Andrew stops grinding against him, keeping him pinned and looking down at him with a smug expression that makes the base of Neil’s spine sing.

Then he rolls his hips back and deliberately thrusts down as if he were fucking into Neil, making the headboard thump against the wall. Bunny topples over from the force and lands on the floor, but Neil is too busy biting down on his lips and stifling a moan to care.

“Don’t keep quiet on my account,” Andrew hums. “The others knew what they signed up for sharing a house with me.”

“I didn’t,” Neil points out, panting a little bit.

“Well, now you know,” Andrew says. He grabs Neil by the waist and pulls until Neil is snug in his lap and spread out wide open before him at the same time.

Neil feels hot all over. It’s different to be so on display; his shirt has rucked up to reveal skin and he reaches down to tug it back into place, but he’s keenly aware of Andrew’s eyes following the movement.

“Do you want me to do anything this time,” he asks, to divert his attention.

“I want to blow you,” Andrew says instead of answering. “Yes or no?”

Neil doesn’t feel any particular way about that, but then he thinks about Andrew’s hot mouth, and-

“Yes,” he says.

Andrew tugs a condom out of his back pocket and drops it onto the bed beside Neil. Then he pulls on the drawstrings of his sweatpants, deliciously slow, and peels them down along with his underwear, hooking the waistband just under Neil’s ass.

For a moment he just looks. The intense scrutiny both turns Neil on and makes him squirm, weirdly self-conscious. He doesn’t think he’s had anyone look at his dick that closely before.

He buries his hands in Andrew’s hair and uses it to tilt his head up.

“I’m not gonna come from you staring at it,” he says, though he doesn’t sound nearly as suave as he was aiming for. Andrew hears it too and smirks.

“Ok,” he says, and presses his face a little into Neil’s pubic hair.

Neil stares at the ceiling, then looks at Andrew, then back at the ceiling. His hands are still in Andrew’s hair, and Andrew is nosing at his thighs, his balls, leaning back to roll the condom expertly over Neil and finally finally licking a stripe up his dick.

Neil says, “Um,” and Andrew stops, and pulls his face over Neil’s.

“Yes?”

Neil shakes his head, not meeting his eyes. “I’ve just never – no one’s ever – it’s weird.”

Andrew takes his chin and kisses it, kisses him, and says, “Just relax, Neil. But if it’s a no that’s ok.” He pulls away and looks at him seriously. “You don’t have to be cool,” he adds with a smirk, and that’s finally what pushes a breath out of Neil, and he laughs, and Andrew kisses into it, and then makes his way back down again. Neil wriggles, and gets comfy, and just closes his eyes, petting Andrew’s hair and gasping in surprise when Andrew curves his lips around the head of his dick.

Neil says, “Oh my god,” and thinks Andrew might huff a laugh over his latex-covered skin, and that just makes him wriggle more, and it’s somewhere between hot and weird but after a few minutes it’s just hot and Neil is scrunching his eyes in concentration. 

Andrew pops off and groans. Neil thinks he murmurs, “Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

“What?”

“Was I talking to you?” Andrew says before taking Neil in his mouth again, coaxing another gasp out of him. It feels new, every time, and maybe that’s what prompts Andrew pulling off and sliding onto him over and over again, until Neil’s squirms become unbearable and he moans and then Andrew takes him as deep as he can and Neil’s muscles are clenching everywhere.

Neil says, “Oh god, I might…” and then he’s coming, without warning, he comes, hot and heavy in Andrew’s mouth, back arching, one hand fisting in Andrew’s hair to still him and the other clenching in the sheets, and he  _ groans _ . Andrew lifts a hand to twine his fingers in the hand Neil has in his hair, loosening his grip, but otherwise he stays still, makes little swallowing motions with his throat that Neil thinks are responsible for the stars exploding behind his eyelids.

His eyes are closed, but Andrew is mumbling, “Neil, can I kiss you?” and Neil nods,  _ yes, anything _ . He’s kissed, and it’s Andrew in his mouth, resting over his body, one hand stroking into his hair. Neil’s dick drops against his stomach and Andrew removes himself to take the condom off, ties it and chucks it on the floor, and returns to kissing Neil.

“Can I?” Neil remembers to ask after a few minutes of just enjoying  _ this _ . 

Andrew freezes, and Neil opens his eyes and watches him back. Andrew appears to consider it, before shaking his head. He mumbles, “Not yet,” against Neil’s lips, hot and drawling while he unbuttons his skinny jeans and lets Neil help him out of them.

“God,” Neil says, fingers accidentally grazing over the skin below Andrew’s ass before he hurriedly pulls them away, as Andrew pulls himself off while leaning over Neil’s body. “Yes,” says Neil, kissing him, encouraging, “Yes, Andrew, you’re so hot.”

Andrew huffs into his mouth, manages to say, “Like you have anything to compare against.”

“You are,” Neil insists, kissing him thoroughly until he comes all over his stomach, thigh muscles clenching against Neil’s half-hard dick, and Neil swallows his gasp, takes all of it, feels his come spooling hot and melty against his skin.

Then it starts trickling over the side of his stomach and he says, “Gross.”

Andrew pulls back, kisses the side of his mouth and pushes off. He looks around, presumably for tissues, and then heads to the bathroom and returns to chuck a toilet roll at Neil. Neil, who has been trying to collect Andrew’s mess with one hand, catches it with the other, and offers Andrew a dry, “Thanks,” while Andrew smirks and heads back into the bathroom.

He doesn’t come back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy tuesday lovelies, what a chapter we have in store for you. our boy neil is kinda going through it in this one, but also having the time of his life. and we forgot poor kevin for a hot moment there, but it's ok, neil reminded us. thanks for your continued support and enthusiasm, we see u all mwah x

Neil stares blindly at the rows upon rows of colourful packaging.

He was only going to buy some cereal, because he used up the last of the communal stash this morning. Cereal had led to milk, had led to Andrew’s favourite hot chocolate mix, had led to remembering he’d been borrowing Matt’s laundry detergent for weeks now and should probably get some to make up for it. From there, it had only been one more aisle and now he’s standing in front of the condoms and wondering if he should pick some up as well.

There are, to his dismay, not just different sizes, but also different flavours, textures and materials. He’s gripped by a weird, wild moment of insecurity over size, then veers down an entirely unhelpful avenue of trying to guess Andrew’s, before taking out his phone and tapping out a message to Matt, which he promptly deletes.

He sighs and turns around. Walks down the last aisle to the self check-out, then hesitates. Looks down at his basket of cereal. Looks back at the condoms. Is about to whirl around and just grab a few different boxes and nearly whirls straight into Seth.

“Dude,” Seth says, steadying him.

“Oh,” Neil says. “Hey.”

On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t buy condoms at the supermarket that is literally down the street from their house.

Does Andrew buy his condoms here?

“Need some help?” Seth grins, catching him looking at the condoms.

“No,” Neil says. “Yes.”

This is worse than the time he got blood poisoning from slicing open his hand on a rusty fence.

“Right, what size do you need?” Seth asks.

Way, way worse.

“Uh,” Neil says.

Ten minutes later, he exits the store feeling like his ears are so red they must be visible from space. He’s got a deeper understanding of band size, sustainability, general condom safety, latex allergies and Seth’s sexual history than he ever wanted to have or asked for. But at least he is now not only equipped with about five different cereal options that should satisfy all of his housemates, he’s also the proud owner of two boxes of condoms that won’t make him look like a fumbling idiot in front of Andrew.

He’s also pretty sure Seth could tell just by looking at him that he’s been hooking up with Andrew, which – he’s just being paranoid, of course. Not that it’s a secret, anyway. _Is_ it a secret? Neil kind of wants it to be – well, not _secret_ secret, not like a shameful hidden thing, just…

Private. Between him and Andrew.

Yeah.

-

Neil’s thoughts are fuzzy. He dreamt of Andrew – again – wearing that vest top and armbands and skinny jeans, and he’s woken up feeling all over the place. He hadn’t seen him yesterday, had simply stashed away his condoms (on top of his box, and suddenly feels like he understands the point of a nightstand with drawers) and had an evening with Renee and Seth, cooking and eating and watching the show they’re into that he hadn’t really understood, but had enjoyed watching them watch. It’s getting easier all the time, to feel like he’s part of this.

Now the house sounds empty, though sometimes it’s hard to tell being on the top floor. He wonders if Andrew’s home – at this time he’s usually either asleep or at the record store. Neil has a day off and spends some time twirling his hair in one hand, turning his phone on and off again, finally getting up and having a shower.

He’s on the sofa with a bowl of cereal and one of Renee’s crime novels when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He turns his head when he hears Andrew say, gruff and tired, “Hello.”

“Hey,” Neil says. He smirks. Andrew’s hair is everywhere, and his eyes are narrow and puffy. “Good night?”

“Can’t complain.” Andrew disappears again and Neil’s smile slips. He wishes he hadn’t asked. He doesn’t know where Andrew was. He goes back to his novel, and doesn’t take in a word. It’s not like he can ask; what they’re doing doesn’t make it any of his business, he doesn’t think.

When Andrew reappears with a bowl of his own, the stuff sloshing around in too much milk as usual, he plops himself next to Neil, cross-legged, and says to his cereal, casually, “I hung out with Kevin and Aaron last night.”

“Oh,” says Neil. “That sounds – fun.”

Andrew huffs and mashes his cereal and says, “Fun with Kevin always means too much alcohol.” And, when Neil has finally taken in one sentence of his crime novel, “It’s my birthday.”

Neil looks at him. “Today?” he asks, realising it comes out slightly panicky.

Andrew gives him a look. “Today,” he says. “I have the day off.”

Neil puts his book down. “Happy birthday.”

Andrew nods, pokes his cereal some more.

“Um. Well. What do you wanna do?”

Andrew is all white t-shirt and grey joggers, leaning lazily against the back of the sofa, and even with his disgusting breakfast in one hand, he looks so good here, like this, and when he smirks at Neil, Neil just laughs.

“Oh my god,” Neil says in faux-disgust, picking up his book again and trying not to smile. “One-track mind much.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Andrew shrug and pick up the tv remote and turns to look at him. Andrew side-eyes him. “I’m not ashamed of what I want.”

Neil frowns and they watch whatever meaningless show comes on, and when Andrew slurps the end of his cereal and leaves, Neil follows him into the kitchen. “I was joking,” he says.

Andrew hops up onto the counter, rinses his bowl in the sink from that position and licks milk off his thumb. “I’m not embarrassed, I’m not ashamed. If you are, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I was _joking_ ,” Neil says again, louder.

“And I don’t do anything without a yes,” Andrew says, as if he’s repeating a point.

Maybe it’s because it’s Andrew’s birthday, maybe it’s because Neil thinks he hears a note of hurt beneath all this preaching, maybe it’s because he really does feel bad for poking fun at something Andrew has clearly thought about a lot. Regardless, he observes himself walking forward and slotting between Andrew’s parting legs. He puts his hands on Andrew’s thighs, slowly, and, without breaking eye contact, says, “I’m not ashamed. And I don’t think you’re – a slut or anything.” The word is hard to say, but it’s what he’s heard the others call Andrew. And he really doesn’t, he doesn’t understand sex _at all –_ or he didn’t – so how much sex someone has doesn’t bother him at all. It’s the _with strangers_ part that baffles him, but it doesn’t offend him. “And I didn’t say no.” Andrew’s serious expression makes Neil smile, so he pokes the tip of Andrew’s nose.

Andrew’s lips part in surprise, or irritation, and Neil moves forward to kiss him. He does it slowly, having picked up on Andrew’s point about yes and no, and Andrew licks his consent into him. They grip each other by the hair, and the shoulders, and Neil grins against Andrew’s mouth and says, “Let’s make birthday cake,” before ripping away. Andrew grumbles behind him and Neil hides a smile by taking his phone out to look up recipes.

They squabble over what kind of cake for a bit, but Neil lets Andrew decide between the three options they narrow it down to. Andrew goes for a plain vanilla sponge with a toasted marshmallow buttercream that Neil only agrees to because he can scrape off the frosting. Still. He tries to do more than just hand utensils to Andrew this time, because it’s Andrew’s birthday, and he deserves to have whatever hideously gross cake he wants.

He ends up with marshmallow goop on his t-shirt and flour in his hair, but then Andrew crowds him up against the fridge and kisses him silly, and then they go to Andrew’s room to kiss some more.

The room is simply furnished, but it looks more lived in than Neil’s. It’s… calm. Andrew’s bed smells faintly like fabric softener and Andrew’s shaving lotion and Neil pulls Andrew down on top of him, irrationally turned on.

“Shit,” Neil says when Andrew sits up and his shirt comes away sticky from the marshmallow mess on Neil’s.

Andrew doesn’t say anything, just looks at him for a long moment, then grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it away.

Neil’s mouth goes a little dry.

He never noticed how broad and nice Andrew’s shoulders are. His fingers itch to reach out and thumb at pretty pink nipples, dip into the perfectly finger-sized indents of Andrew’s clavicle and sternum, follow the lines of his biceps and the happy trail that leads down from his navel to the tantalising strip of black waistband visible above his joggers.

“Staring,” Andrew hums. Pleased.

“You’re hot,” Neil says, shrugging a little.

Andrew reaches down to play with the hem of Neil’s shirt and Neil looks away.

“Neil,” Andrew says.

“Can I,” Neil says. Peers down at Andrew’s hand and plucks it off his shirt and slides their fingers together, then their palms. “Can I do stuff, to you? I’d like to.”

Andrew’s hand twitches against his for a moment. He’s silent for a moment, then leans over to his bedside table and grabs a bottle of lube out of the drawer.

“Ok,” he says. Calm and sure.

Neil goes hot and then cold, then hot again and needly all over. He breathes in and swallows and breathes out. Picks up the lube, sweaty fingers slipping on the cap twice before he gets it open.

Andrew nudges his pants down around his thighs and does the same to Neil’s, giving his own cock a few absent-minded tugs. Neil just watches until Andrew takes one of Neil’s hands and squeezes a generous amount of lube on it, tongue peeking out between his lips the exact same way as when he squeezes syrup on his pancakes on Sunday mornings. Neil hides a smile.

“What are you looking so smug about,” Andrew asks anyway, ducking down for a quick kiss.

“Nothing,” Neil says, smugly. He tries to warm the lube in his hand as Andrew arranges himself on top of Neil, then lets Andrew guide his sticky hand around both of their cocks.

Andrew quirks an eyebrow at him.

Neil nods and Andrew starts moving, slow thrusts in and out of the tight circle of Neil’s hand. One of them keeps slipping out though, so Neil adds his other hand for a better grip and Andrew grunts in approval.

It’s messy.

Every time Neil feels like he’s getting somewhere, he loses the right angle or pressure or friction and it all falls apart again. The increasingly urgent snap of Andrew’s hips on top of him does more for him than the actual motions of his hands, and he’s slightly mesmerised by the way Andrew’s eyes start to shine, the way his cheeks are flushing, the pink tip of his tongue poking out between his lips, the erratic breaths stuttering out of him.

“You’re so hot,” he whispers again, dazed.

And Andrew kisses him, and comes all over his hands.

-

They’re lazing on the sofa eating cake, Andrew’s feet in Neil’s lap, when Neil starts to feel panicky. He digs around his thoughts for the source of the panic, frowns at his cake, and out of nowhere finds himself asking, “What do you normally do with guys?”

Andrew doesn’t even look away from the tv. “Knitting.”

Neil sinks a little into the sofa, “Ok.”

He feels Andrew’s stare on him, and eventually Andrew says, “Sex, Neil. Blowjobs, handjobs, whatever.” Neil nods. “Why?”

“Do you ever see the same guy more than once?”

Andrew digs his toes into Neil’s thighs but when Neil looks at him he’s turning the volume up, staring at the tv. “When it’s good.” He spears his fork into his cake slice, eating idly as Neil smiles a little and dips his fingers into the hem of Andrew’s sock.

-

Neil assumes no one knows. They’ve only been hooking up for a couple of weeks. Hooking up is Andrew’s term, and Neil assumes it’s designed to make it sound as casual as possible. Apparently sex isn’t a big deal, and it’s just something two people can do alongside everything else. Like fairgrounds, bowling, buying records, going to gigs. Drinking water.

Neil still hasn’t been to one of Andrew’s DJ sets. He doesn’t really like loud, crowded places, but this time Andrew had invited him explicitly. He’d woken him up, naked down to his boxers, asked to blow him, and Neil had let him, hands in Andrew’s hair and trying not to make a sound until afterwards when, while he’d been regaining his breath, Andrew had smugly said, “So you’re coming, then.”

“What?”

“Tonight.”

Which is how Neil finds himself staring forlornly into his box of shirts, phone in one hand. He doesn’t want to go to Allison with this. She would be too smug. He doesn’t think Matt or Kevin would care either way.

Jean picks up on the second ring. “Neil,” he says, his voice warm. “What can I do for you?”

Half an hour later, Neil is sitting cross-legged on the end of Jean’s bed, Jean at the head, drinking smoothies and catching up. Neil likes talking to Jean. Even when they just talk about whatever, it sort of feels like somewhere he could keep some of his secrets.

Jean eventually says, a duck to his head and a small smirk, “So, what’s the big emergency?”

Neil says, “The guy – the hook-up. He invited me out tonight.” Jean is quiet, so Neil elaborates, “I mean, not like a date. It’s a group thing.”

“Yes,” Jean says slowly, putting his glass down. “Andrew invited us too.”

Neil blinks. “Oh,” he says, belatedly. And, even more belatedly, “It’s not –” but the words get stuck in his throat.

Jean just looks at him. “It’s ok. I won’t tell anyone.” Neil frowns and looks away. He feels stupid and embarrassed. “Was it meant to be a secret?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters, feeling even more stupid. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

When he finally has the courage to look at Jean, he’s smirking at him. “So, Andrew?” 

“Oh shut up,” Neil says, grinning and throwing a cushion at him.

“You still haven’t told me what the big emergency is.”

“I have no clothes.” Jean raises his eyebrows, and Neil looks down at himself in his faded jeans and grey college sweater and up again. “I mean, I _have clothes_. But, I dunno. What do people wear to clubs?”

Jean looks panicked. “I have no idea. And I’m almost a foot taller than you. Why on earth would you come to me for this?”

Neil thinks about it, shrugs and says, with a small smile, “I have no idea,” and for some reason his smile turns into a surprised laugh as Jean scowls at him.

Someone knocks on the door and Jean calls them in, and then Jeremy is leaning in the doorway, watching them curiously. “Oh, sorry,” he says, looking at Neil and back to Jean. “I’ll uh –”

“No, it’s ok,” Jean says quickly, one leg off the bed as if he was going to stand, before staying where he is. “Actually we need you.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy says, sounding a little hopeful.

Jean looks at Neil, and Neil sighs. “I need clothes.”

“Oh! For tonight? Are you actually coming out?” Jeremy takes a step into the room and crosses his arms.

Neil rolls his eyes. “So I take it everyone was invited.”

Jeremy grins. “It’ll be awesome! I’m, um, glad you two decided to come.” The statement sounds loaded somehow, and Neil looks at Jean to see him frowning. But then Jeremy says, “Well, let’s get you looking hot. Thank god you came to me with this, I’m only a little taller than you. Can you imagine you in Jean’s clothes?” Jeremy stops abruptly, and turns away. “Come on.” Neil gets up to follow him and hears Jean unfolding his long legs behind them.

Jeremy has a lot of t-shirts with dorky prints.

Jean barely manages to stifle his laughter at one that looks like an ugly Christmas sweater with a picture of some cookies on it that says “I put out for Santa”. Jeremy looks a little sheepish but mostly enamoured, and Neil privately thinks that Jean’s laugh is really nice, too.

Thinking about Jean’s laugh somehow reminds him of Andrew’s laugh, which is understated and kind of dry and smoky. It makes his spine tingle, and he quickly digs his arms into Jeremy’s closet to distract himself.

He has to model a few different outfits until they finally settle on casual, skinny grey slacks that sit low on his waist and a tight black hooded t-shirt with a sleek geometric print. It’s not over the top, but it looks more put-together than his regular outfits, and as he looks at himself in the mirror with his hands in his pockets, turning this way and that, he thinks Andrew might actually approve of it for once.

Not that he’ll probably see a lot of Andrew tonight, since he’s working and all that.

A sudden nervousness blooms behind his sternum. He tries to brush it off, tells himself that Andrew didn’t invite him specifically and that he’s just going to have fun with his friends. Tapping his foot and twirling his phone in his hand, he waits for Jean and Jeremy to finish getting ready. Night gathers like cobwebs around him, and the nervous feeling only gets bigger, steadily inflating like a little helium balloon in his chest.

“Ready?” Jean asks, smirking meaningfully at him. Neil pats his pockets – he transferred the condom he brought from his jeans, just in case, and he feels the ridges of the little packet against the thin fabric and tries not to squirm too visibly.

“I’ve been ready for like, an hour,” he shoots back. “You’re the one who took an eternity fussing with his hair.”

“Me?” Jean sniffs. “I woke up like this. Jeremy had to shave his two beard hairs.”

“Hey!” Jeremy huffs. “Last I checked, we were helping Neil get dolled up for… uh, the gig.”

“Where’s Kevin, anyway?”

“...Fuck, we forgot about Kevin.”

Neil gets his phone out and texts Kevin. _hey loser. im at your house. we’ll meet you at the club?_

And smiles down at his phone when Kevin replies, _who is this_ . And then, just as quickly, _I can’t believe you’re actually coming._ And then, _loser_.

Neil grins, “He’ll see us there.” 

-

When they arrive, Neil’s friends are already there, crowding round a table with too few seats, on some kind of mezzanine that overlooks the dance floor and the stage. Andrew is there, looking smoky and fit in tight black clothes, some sort of generic pulsing beat on the speakers and no one standing at the decks yet. Neil lets Jeremy and Jean walk ahead of him, eyes trailing over groups of people in dark clothing. It’s emptier than he expected, but when he checks his watch it’s only 9pm and Andrew isn’t on until 11. He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks up behind the others.

People are finding extra chairs and stools and Andrew pokes a head around Jean to find him, and stills, eyes on Neil. Neil purses his lips together and shrugs. Andrew takes in a deep, sucking breath and then frowns, irritated. Neil grins and moves to find a seat.

Seth says, “My favourite tiny buddy,” and pulls Neil onto his lap. Andrew glares at him, and Seth rolls his eyes. “Apart from _you,_ Minyard.”

Neil moves around until he’s on Seth’s thighs, sideways, and can lean back against the end of the bench. Andrew takes Jean and Matt to get drinks, and when he returns he places a blue drink in front of Neil. Neil takes it without question, and Seth says, “What did you order?”

Neil says, “I have no idea,” and takes a sip. Despite its colour, it’s fruity, and not too sweet. He smiles.

Seth and Renee talk to him about the show he’s started watching with them, and when Kevin arrives Neil gets to his feet and sits on the table so he can listen to him and Jean talk about exy. Jeremy and Andrew sidle up, despite neither being very interested in exy. Andrew hops onto the high table next to Neil and Jeremy slips a casual arm round Jean’s waist. He looks uncertain about it, even though Neil has seen them touch a thousand times, and Jean just slings an arm over Jeremy’s shoulder without looking away from Kevin. Jeremy seems pleased, content, even perking up to ask Kevin something. The second he does though it’s like Jean has noticed him there, and he removes his arm and takes a step back, mumbling something about a smoke break. Jeremy nods and shoves his hands in his pocket.

Neil stands, wondering if he should follow Jean, and Jeremy looks at him, noticing the move, and then stiffly pulls on Kevin’s arm to go to the bar.

Andrew says, “Where’s the fire, rabbit?”

Neil looks back at him, then after Jean again, then shrugs. He leans back against the table. “It’s nothing. What time are you on?”

Andrew stands up. “Soon.” He pushes off the table and tugs on the drawstring of Neil’s hoody, close enough Neil can feel his breath on his face. “Come on.”

“Um.” Neil tries not to look at Seth, who he thinks might be watching them. “Won’t people notice?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Maybe we’re just going for a walk?”

“Are we?”

Andrew smirks before walking off, so arrogant in assuming Neil will follow, his hips almost swaying under the dark lights of the club and – Neil follows.

He’s pushed up against the door of a bathroom stall and holds himself there until Andrew pushes Neil’s hands over his shoulders, until Neil can dip his fingers under the sleeves of Andrew’s tank top and feel over his muscles.

Andrew mumbles into his mouth, “Just need a top up.”

Neil pants back, “What?” and is kissed thoroughly for the interruption, until Andrew sinks to his knees on the floor of the tiny stall and Neil says, “Oh, _shit_.” Andrew has one hand on his groin, undoing him and palming him restlessly, the other skating around Neil’s hip, gaze steady as Neil nods, as he feels Andrew’s hand feeling over his ass before pausing. He kneels up, sticks his hand in Neil’s pocket and pulls out the condom.

Andrew looks up at Neil. “Big plans?”

Neil puts one hand into Andrew’s hair and tugs a little, feeling embarrassed. “Um. Maybe.”

Andrew hums and kisses the hip he’s just revealed, taking the condom and rolling it over Neil. Neil loves this bit, the anticipation, the first skating of Andrew’s fingers over him before – _yes_. He’s in Andrew’s mouth and Andrew is sucking over him, again and again, on his knees like this is all he needed.

Andrew’s single-minded focus on sucking his dick makes Neil’s toes curl almost painfully in his sneakers.

He comes with a quiet pant, curling in on himself, and Andrew pops off and licks his lips as if he just swallowed all of it.

“You?” Neil manages, but Andrew just shrugs.

“Later,” he says casually, and if Neil hadn’t just come, he’d be hard again now.

-

The music Andrew plays is loud and powerful, a heart pumping blood and adrenaline and oxygen in the centre of the club. Neil stays on the outskirts, feeling hazy and blissed out, watching some of his friends get absorbed into the dancers while the others just sit and drink. He can see Andrew’s head and shoulders and arms from his perch, moving confidently, almost as if on autopilot. Neil kind of wants to get closer but remains in his seat, feeling overheated and drowsy, the beat shaking through him like Andrew is right there touching him.

About an hour into the set, Neil gets up and realises he’s half-hard again.

He wanders down into the pit in a daze, stands uselessly amid the dancers. Andrew doesn’t look at him once, but Neil still feels seen. Wallows in the invisible spotlight of the beat that sets his skin alight, teasing goosebumps from his elbows to his hands and down his spine.

He thinks this is the sort of music he might like, though when it’s over he can’t remember any of it in particular.

It’s late when they leave, stumbling out into the teeth-numbing chill of the night, some of the others supporting or leaning on each other. Leftover laughter zooms around between them like a lost bird, and Neil feels tired and awake at the same time.

Andrew walks with Seth and Renee. Neil walks between Dan and Matt. They don’t touch, don’t even look at each other, until they get home and Neil comes out of the bathroom wearing only a t-shirt and his underwear, and Andrew is right there.

He waits for a slow, languid second, making sure Neil is looking at him. Then he tips his head to his room and walks through the door, pulling Neil along in his wake like driftwood.

The smell of Andrew’s bed is kind of like his music, Neil muses. He can never recall it after, but when he sinks into it, it’s familiar; perfect. In tune.

Andrew takes his hands and pulls them up, pins them down. He covers Neil’s body with his own and eases his mouth open with kisses, teasing and fooling around until he’s got Neil chasing after him, straining his neck. He mouths a line down Neil’s throat, noses at the collar of his shirt and sucks a hickey into the skin just below it. Neil idly wonders if Andrew is always horny after a gig or if it’s just because he didn’t come earlier, but loses his track of thought when Andrew murmurs, “Want to fuck you,” into Neil’s mouth like some sort of open sesame.

Neil freezes.

Andrew must feel the change in his body underneath him from pliant to stiff and pushes himself up and off, looking down at him with eyes dark like velvet brushed the wrong way.

“That’s a no,” he translates, frowning.

“No,” Neil says, “I mean. Let me. Think.”

He swallows. Thinks of discomfort and disengaging and hoping it would be over soon so he could leave and not be naked and vulnerable and messy with someone he barely knew. The cold smoke of shame lingering in the folds of his brain the day after. Feeling like his body was all wrong.

He opens his mouth and breathes out. Notices that he’s trembling slightly. He feels cold, even though Andrew’s body is hot and his bed is warm and his arms are still tacky with sweat from the club.

“Forget it,” Andrew says, rolling off him. “Tell me what you want.”

Neil grabs for him, clenches his fist in Andrew’s shirt, and Andrew clenches his fingers around Neil’s wrist, and waits, patient despite the desperation only moments before. Neil closes his eyes and moves forward to kiss Andrew’s neck. “Can we just… can I touch you?”

“Yes,” says Andrew, managing to make the word sound like Neil’s clumsy hand around him is all he needs, managing not to sound like Neil is a disappointment, even though Neil knows he is.

They end up on their sides, face to face but eyes closed, and Neil lets himself be kissed, or kisses around Andrew’s neck and jaw, and they wrap their hands around each other, and Neil tries not to feel too sad as he feels Andrew in his hand and dedicates himself to the task completely. Andrew comes before Neil’s even hard enough to, and Andrew withdraws his hand and is still breathing hard even as Neil starts getting up.

Andrew says, “Neil.” Neil looks back. “You don’t have to go.”

Neil shakes his head, says, “It’s ok,” and leaves.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO. we like this chapter. that is all.   
> oh except for btw your comments have all been so lovely, we try to reply when we can :D keep 'em coming, always happy to answer questions on tumblr too.  
> lots of love hedy & moonix xxx

Neil is being an idiot.

He knows he’s being an idiot, but that doesn’t mean he can just stop being an idiot. So he picks up an extra shift at the bowling alley the next day, doing mindless inventory and cleaning surfaces that are already clean, staying late until the only people there are a group of tipsy hen night girls and some elderly ladies’ knitting club night out. The radiator behind him sputters and gurgles, one of the lights went out earlier and he hasn’t been able to figure out why yet, and he keeps changing the radio station because all of the music reminds him of Andrew.

Allison texts him to say that she ran into Matt and Seth and they’re going out to some bar and doesn’t he want to come and hang out with them. Neil is tempted, just to numb the stupid circles his brain is churning in, but mostly he just wants to go home and sleep.

The clack of the bowling pins and the drunken cheers stab behind his temples like a headache. The current song fades out and Neil absent-mindedly reaches over to press the button, shuffling to the next station. It’s something bluesy and mournful, too raw for background noise, but he leaves it on for one song.

One of the girls breaks away from the group and comes up to the counter.

“Hey, cutie,” she says, putting her hands on the freshly polished wood and beaming at him. Her make-up has started to smear a little under a thin film of sweat and dark roots are showing under staticky, badly-bleached hair, but there’s something earnest about her, something true.

“Hey,” Neil says.

“You know what I really want?” the girl sighs.

“No,” Neil says, “but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

She tips her head back and laughs like that’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“I really, really want a milkshake,” she says when she’s done laughing. “Like, strawberry.”

“Ok,” Neil says. Gets up.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” the girl tells him, earnestly. “Do you, like, have a girlfriend?”

“No,” Neil says, trying to shake off the feeling of doom that’s creeping up on him, which probably means she’s trying to flirt with him.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

The girl nods. Then she sits down on the floor and starts crying.

Panicking, Neil vaults over the counter and crouches down next to her, trying to remember anything from the first aid poster in the back office. Her friends haven’t even noticed, or maybe they have and just don’t care.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, watching a splotch of mascara make its slow descent down her cheek.

She shakes her head. Sniffs.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks, wondering if he should do something. Get her a blanket, or that milkshake. “Want me to get one of your friends?”

“No,” she whimpers. “I just- I just- I need to- be sad.”

“Ok,” Neil says. He stands up. “I’m gonna make your milkshake. Don’t… don’t move.”

The milkshake is just milk, plain vanilla ice-cream, and a few spoonfuls of strawberry milkshake powder run through a blender. He pours it out into a tall glass, sticks a red striped straw in it and squirts some whipped cream on top. There are cocktail cherries in the fridge – maybe one of those, too.

“Here,” he says, putting the milkshake on the floor next to the girl who’s still crying. Then he slides down and props his hands on his knees and just… sits. He doesn’t know how to comfort her, but at least she’s not crying alone.

His phone buzzes again.

He pulls it out and finds a few missed messages from Allison, mostly selfies with Seth and Matt from the bar. There’s also a message from Andrew.

His stomach ties itself in squirmy knots but he taps on it. It says:  _ it was your turn to make dinner where are u? _ And then, a bit later:  _ i’m bored _ .

Neil swallows and tries not to let it turn into “I’m bored of you, and this” in his head. Sooner or later Andrew will be, and then Neil is going to have to readjust to not constantly thinking about him. He types  _ work emergency _ , and tucks his phone away.

“You ever just cry for no reason at all,” the girl hiccups.

“Not really,” Neil says.

“I’m Mandy, by the way.”

“Neil.”

She smiles a watery smile.

“Thanks for the milkshake, Neil. It’s great.”

Neil knows firsthand how bland these things taste, but he’s not going to argue with a girl who’s crying for no reason.

They’re five songs into the blues channel now. It’s not so bad.

“I should,” Neil says, gesturing vaguely at the counter.

“Yeah,” Mandy says, wiping her face with her sleeves. “Cool. I’ll…”

She gestures vaguely at her friends, who still don’t seem overly concerned that she’s crying on the floor with a stranger.

“Great,” Neil says and gets up.

His phone buzzes twice in quick succession in his pocket.

He ignores it.

-

When he gets home, it’s late, and only the glare of the tv lights up a blond highlight around Andrew’s head, cupped in one hand before he turns around to see who’s just come home. Neil waves and moves into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He opens the fridge and eyes the contents, but he’s not really hungry. When he shuts the door Andrew is standing there, looking a bit bleary-eyed, like he’s tired – although it’s not really all that late for him, so probably more like he’s been napping – and holding a packet of cookies in one hand. “Movie?” he says.

Neil smiles, and then grins, and says, “Yeah, ok.”

They sit side by side on the sofa, and Andrew finds something to watch – something with robots and aliens that Neil doesn’t think he’ll be able to follow – and Neil asks, “Where is everyone?” as Andrew drops a cookie into his hand.

“Out, or asleep,” Andrew answers, crossing his legs and folding the blanket over his lap, and then over Neil’s too. Neil’s feet only just reach the floor so he tucks his feet inside too, hugging his knees to his chest.

“What was the work emergency,” Andrew asks, dipping his cookie in a glass of milk like he’s five or something. But then he holds out his glass and looks at Neil expectantly, so Neil dips his cookie too and has to admit it’s better. Softer. Milkier.

Neil says, “There was a lot of cleaning to do.”

After a pause Andrew says, “Sure.”

“And a crying girl.”

“Why?”

“She really wanted a milkshake.” Neil enjoys the furrowed brows Andrew turns on him and gets comfy. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting – to no longer be the center of Andrew’s somewhat confusing and certainly undeserved attention, probably – but cookies and a movie and Andrew wrapped up next to him is more than he could have imagined.

“Did you make her cry?” Andrew asks, sounding more interested than he usually does.

“She was probably flirting with me,” Neil says, dipping his cookie into Andrew’s milk again. “I gave her a milkshake instead.”

Andrew chokes a little on his cookie, and Neil laughs, delighted.

They watch the movie, mostly, and Neil asks Andrew what his favourite robot is and Andrew explains, trying his hardest to sound irritated, that having a favourite robot is not the point of the robots vs aliens movie. Neil says his is the one that looks like Andrew.

When Neil moves his legs around, and their knees touch, they go quiet for a bit, and Neil tries not to feel weirdly pleased about such an innocuous warmth.

And then Andrew says, “You should tell me what you like.”

Neil chews slowly on his cookie. Andrew has eaten twice as many as him. Mostly he’s enjoying them because Andrew is sharing with him. So he chews slowly, and then says, “Like what?”

“Like when we’re fucking,” Andrew says, all slow and drawling as if it’s obvious what he’d meant.

“Oh,” Neil says, and shoves the rest of his cookie in his mouth. Andrew gives him an unimpressed look, watches his throat as he swallows, and makes Neil feel weirdly scrutinised. He looks down at his hands and says. “I don’t really know, honestly. I’ve liked everything so far.”

“At the drinking game,” Andrew starts, looking back at the tv screen. “You weren’t lying?”

Neil looks at the side of his face, then away. “No. I’ve had sex before. Um. Once. Probably. It depends what you – what you count.”

Andrew shrugs, and turns sideways suddenly, knocking Neil away a little and planting his feet in Neil’s lap, wriggling his toes. Neil can’t help but smile, inches his fingers into the tops of Andrew’s black socks, just keeps them there, like a prize. Andrew says, watching him carefully, “It’s whatever you say it is.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Andrew puts the pack of cookies on the ground, and that’s how Neil knows this conversation is happening whether he wants it to or not. He circles Andrew’s ankle, holds on. “So, you should tell me what you like.” He gives him a heated look. “So we can do it.”

Neil is fairly sure he’s blushing, but the light is low, and the tv is flickering over them, and he’s hoping Andrew can’t tell. He says, “I like what we’ve been doing, I guess.”

“And more?” Andrew prompts.

Neil sighs, leans back and looks away. “I tried once, with a guy. I hated it.”

“Ok. What did you hate about it?”

Neil hates and likes with equal measure how nice Andrew is being. He wonders if Andrew realises how nice he’s being, and considers teasing him but is too afraid he’ll stop. “I didn’t really know him. It was an experiment, honestly. I couldn’t – he couldn’t – you know... I was too – we didn’t really manage to do anything. It was just a mess.”

Andrew seems to understand. He’s nodding, anyway. “Ok,” he says again, and pokes Neil in the thigh. “You know me, though. Do you want to try again?”

Neil slouches down. “What if that happens again?”

“Then it happens again,” Andrew says, seriously. Then he smirks, and Neil is mesmerized by that half-smile, the promise in it. “It could be fun, trying to get you to relax.”

Neil hums, still staring at his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.”

Then Andrew turns back to the screen, slouches against the arm, and Neil leans back too.

“It’s not just instantly good,” Andrew says, still facing away from him.

“No, yeah,” Neil says. “I know that now.”

He doesn’t mention the times he’s tried on his own, and how that hadn’t been instantly good either, but then it had been ok, because it had just been him, and because it had almost felt like a challenge to figure it out. But once he got the hang of it he’d kind of grown bored of putting so much effort in.

“And it’s not  _ better _ ,” Andrew continues. “It’s not the holy grail of sex.”

“Ok,” Neil says, pressing a smile between his lips like a dried flower.

“Not everyone does it. Not everyone wants or likes it.”

“Right,” Neil says. Then: “Do you?”

Andrew is quiet for a moment. He picks up the glass of milk and drains it, cookie crumbs and all.

“Sometimes,” he says at last. “When I’m in the mood. If the other guy is really into it.”

Neil really wants to ask if he means fucking or being fucked. He feels tingly and overheated and sluggish. The darkness around them is already saturated with things he wouldn’t normally say out loud, so he tries: “What do you like?”

It comes out more quietly than intended.

Andrew licks his lips, tongue swiping at the milk moustache on his upper lip.

“Making a guy come,” he says, his voice hot and heavy. “Making him lose his mind a little. Making it really good.”

“And you?” Neil asks. “What makes it really good for you?”

Andrew pokes him with his toe as if to punish him for asking that.

“I answered your question,” Neil says, cagily. “It’s not that hard.”

Andrew’s face goes blank for a moment, then he folds one of his arms behind his head and looks at the ceiling.

“When I was a child,” he says slowly, “I was in foster care. People never asked. They just took, and took, and took. I thought there was nothing left of me.”

Neil is silent.

“Then,” Andrew continues, “I started doing it on my own terms. It was…”

He searches for the right words, a small frown between his brows. The hand that’s lying on his chest twitches like he’s trying to catch fireflies that flit and disappear.

“It is. A recovery thing,” he finally says, sounding almost frustrated. “You know. Reclaiming.”

“Oh,” Neil says, throat tight. “Yeah. Ok.”

He’s quiet, stares at the tv without seeing anything. Then he adds: “Thanks. For telling me.”

He thinks he understands Andrew a little better now, but also like he didn’t really deserve to know that.

Andrew pokes him again with his foot and huffs. Closes his eyes like he’s putting an end to the conversation. When he opens them again, he looks at Neil and arches his back a little and sits up.

“So,” he says.

“Hm?” Neil asks.

Andrew taps a finger against his mouth, like he’s thinking. His fingernails are a chipped black and his hands look blueish in the light from the tv.

They’re nice, Neil thinks absently.

“We could try,” Andrew says slowly, deliberately. “Relaxing you.”

Neil says, “Um. Yeah. Yes,” and twists sideways to face him.

Andrew drops his eyes to Neil’s mouth, and curls a hand around his jaw. He leans forward to kiss him, soft and slow and tingly, one hand curving around his head to dig into his hair as he pushes Neil onto his back. Neil grabs onto his upper arms, but goes willingly. He feels a little shivery, and Andrew says into his mouth, “This is going to be good, Neil.”

Neil nods against him, and whispers, “Ok.”

“But you will tell me if it isn’t, understood?”

Andrew holds his lips still against Neil, waiting for an answer. Neil nods. “Ok.”

Neil expects this to be fiery, like it often is, but Andrew is kissing him like he’s delicate, prying his mouth open and closing it again, licking inside only to withdraw, and Neil is definitely shivering now.

The front door slams open and laughter bursts through the house. Neil pushes them bolt upright and Andrew raises an eyebrow at him, then shrugs and arranges himself at the other end of the sofa. Neil clears his throat and pulls the blanket onto his lap.

Matt swings his head round the door. “MY DUDES,” he says at a totally normal volume. “HELLO. I AM GOING TO BED.”

Andrew says, “Renee is asleep,” without looking at him.

“EXCELLENT,” Matt whispers at the same volume, and then leaves.

Neil hears Seth laughing, and a girl giggling, and Andrew says, “Great, competition,” and Neil stifles a laugh into his hand and listens to the cavalry move around the house, and once he hears enough doors shut he grabs Andrew by the shirt and hauls him upstairs.

In Andrew’s bedroom, Andrew kisses him into the door and breathes into him, “You make me feel like a dirty little secret.”

“Oh,” Neil says, starting to loosen his grip on Andrew’s biceps. “Is that –”

“Excellent,” Andrew mimics in Matt’s drunken tone, smirking against Neil’s lips. Neil grins and Andrew pulls him away from the door, over onto the bed, pushes him down, crawls on top of him, and gets back to work.

Somewhere between kissing him and unzipping his jeans, Andrew is also finding a playlist on his phone and chucking it down on the spare pillow, something soft and tinny coming out of the tiny speakers. It’s the album Andrew put on Neil’s phone, the one that made him fall asleep. The one that makes him feel peaceful. He smiles against Andrew and kisses away from his mouth as Andrew walks his fingers over Neil’s chest and slips up the hem of his shirt to feel around the tangle of hair, finally sliding into his pants. Neil arches a little, lets Andrew undress his lower half, and Andrew says, conversationally, “I’m going to finger you, ok?”

Neil feels alarmed. “Ok.”

“Don’t look so worried.”

“I’m not.”

Andrew leans over to reach for the bottle of lube and covers his fingers in it before pulling Neil into his hand. Neil’s whole body is tugged down a little in the process, and maybe that should be uncomfortable, but it’s definitely just hot. He watches as Andrew jerks him lazily, feels the usual tingles up his skin with Andrew’s heated gaze. Andrew stops and walks his fingers over Neil’s balls, down and down, pushes a little and Neil’s eyes widen as the tip of Andrew’s finger pushes inside him.

Andrew kisses him on the lips, and then the cheeks, and then over his eyelids, so that they close, even tucks his hand under Neil’s neck so that Neil is entirely enclosed in a half-circle of Andrew, and whispers into his ear, “You’re so  _ warm _ ,” before kissing slowly down Neil’s chest, over his shirt, leaving shivers in his wake, and taking him into his mouth.

Neil gasps at the ceiling – just the tip of Andrew’s finger inside him, a sensation that’s so intimate it couldn’t possibly be anything other than hot and overwhelming, Andrew’s wet mouth over his dick – and clenches sheets in his fingers.

Andrew takes his time.

Every time Neil feels like he’s getting somewhere, like the pressure inside him is coalescing into something tangible, Andrew withdraws, slows down. Places small, smoochy kisses along his cock and the insides of his thighs, traces and rubs at him with his finger like he’s just getting to know him. It makes Neil squirm and huff and mutter, and he can feel Andrew smile against his skin, followed by a bite that zings through Neil’s entire body.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” Andrew hums, two knuckles deep inside Neil, and Neil can’t even think of a comeback because it’s all so  _ much _ . He doesn’t realise he’s covering his face with his hand until Andrew tugs it off, pries it open; kisses his palm. Murmurs: “Let me see you.”

The words shiver through him violently. Neil never wanted to be seen by anybody. Yet here he is: spread wide and taking up space, highlighted by the golden glow of the bedside lamp, feeling full and present and there.

Loud, even.

Andrew comes back up to him but stays just out of reach, watching his face as he wraps his hand around Neil and starts up a slow, steady rhythm, somehow managing to match both of his hands, driving Neil out of his mind with trying to decide if he wants to arch up into his grip or rock down onto his finger.

Something sets him alight from the tips of his fingers to his toes and he gasps wetly, mouth falling open and body tensing around Andrew and feet curling into the sheets so tightly they cramp.

“Ah,” Andrew murmurs, pleased. “There you are.”

He doesn’t do it again, instead skirts kind of around it, stops short; like getting acquainted and finding the right way to say hello. Then he speeds up his other hand, and Neil makes a noise like – god, kind of like a sob. There’s a spike of both overstimulation and shame and he twists his face into the pillow, trying to hide, but Andrew won’t let him.

“Look at me,” he demands, and Neil does.

Everything gets a little fuzzy after that.

Neil’s orgasm feels like melting apart at the seams, like he’s leaking everywhere. He hopes to god he isn’t, though everything feels damp and slippery, and then Andrew carefully removes his finger and leans over to grab a wet wipe from his window sill and Neil shivers, hard.

He wishes, selfishly, ridiculously, that Andrew would hold him. Just for a moment. Just until he’s put himself back together.

Andrew sits on his legs and wipes at his hands and looks at him.

“Good?” he asks shrewdly.

Neil manages a nod. Looks around for his underwear so he won’t feel quite so shivery and exposed anymore. He should probably shower. He should at least… wash his hands, or something.

He sits up. Rubs his foot to ease out that weird, persistent little cramp. Cleans himself off with another wet wipe and fiddles around with the sheets and the bottle of lube until everything is tidy and he can’t stall any longer.

“It was good,” he says out loud, avoiding Andrew’s eyes. “Really good. That was – yeah.”

Andrew has been watching him, but now he nods, and stands, stretches, grabs his laptop and removes his shirt and comes back to bed, topless except for his armbands.

Neil says, “Do you want anything?”

Andrew shakes his head and smirks down at Neil’s underwear, damp patch and all, before leaning to kiss him on the thigh. “Bathroom,” he says, leaving the laptop on the bed and leaving the room abruptly with no instruction on whether or not Neil should leave too.

So he doesn’t.

He’s already in only slightly damp boxers and a t-shirt and figures he’s good. He settles against Andrew’s pillow and picks up his phone, noting the name of the current song. It’s good. He puts it down again, wondering where his own phone is. Downstairs, probably.

Andrew’s back before Neil’s decided what to do, and then Andrew is next to him in bed, kissing him lazily, mouth minty fresh and like clear air, and Neil pulls away reluctantly. “I should...”

Andrew nods. “Go. Then come back.” He looks down at his laptop, opening it and typing something. Neil frowns, and goes.

When he comes back he feels cleaner, fresh pair of tight boxer shorts and his favourite baggy white t-shirt with a small hole in the shoulder, his squeezy ball in one hand.

Andrew looks up, obviously admiring, and then says, “What’s that?”

Neil sits next to him, gets comfy on top of the sheets and says, “My squeezy ball.” He gives it a squeeze for good measure, as if all his anxiety about whether or not he’s getting this right can be expelled into the soft, spongy surface.

Andrew huffs. “Obviously,” he mutters, returning to type something on the screen.

He’s found the end of the movie they’d left half way through. But the second it starts playing he places it on his nightstand, and kisses Neil senseless, squeezy ball dropping from his hand and rolling to the floor.

**-**

He wakes up, surprised to find he’d fallen asleep at all, the way it is sometimes, and even more surprised when he works out he’s still in Andrew’s bed. They’re facing each other, and as Neil’s eyes adjust to the early morning darkness he can make out more of Andrew: lips slightly parted, head tilted down, hand curled near Neil’s pillow.

Neil watches him for a while, because he can, and then rolls out of bed quietly before he can be caught.

In his room he pulls on sweatpants and then goes downstairs in search of his phone.

He finds it wedged behind a cushion and leans against the sofa while it powers on, trying not to think about Andrew the entire time.

He never checked his phone after he got back last night, and he’s remembered he had a couple of messages that he hadn’t read, probably from Andrew. He’s sort of desperate to know what they say.

But they’re not from Andrew, they’re from Allison.

The first one says  _ neeeeeeil we need you stop being boring _

And the second one says  _ god he’s so hot i know you said not to but i just have to you know? _

Then the third one,  _ tell me not to and i won’t do it. _

Neil frowns down at his phone, and looks up when he hears tentative steps on the stairs. A very slightly rumpled-looking Allison creeps past with her high heels dangling from one hand, freezing mid-yawn when she sees him.

Neil doesn’t know what to say.

“Morning,” Allison whispers. She looks a little forlorn for a moment, standing barefoot in the doorframe, then she grins sheepishly and adds: “I slept with Seth. Sorry not sorry.”

“Oh,” Neil says.

“Shh, Renee’s probably sleeping,” Allison whispers frantically. “I don’t want her to see me like this, I look like a skank.”

“You look the same as usual,” Neil says.

Allison raises both of her eyebrows.

“So I always look like a skank?”

Neil frowns.

“No. I just… You’re very put-together.”

“Sweet of you,” Allison grins. “So, you’re not mad that I slept with one of your housemates?”

“No,” Neil says. “I mean, I kind of asked you not to, because the last time you slept with one of my roommates you kicked off drama of an apocalyptic scale and I ended up having to transfer to a different dorm in the middle of term, and I really want these people to not kick me out, but…”

Ok, so maybe he is a little mad.

Allison narrows her eyes at him. She fixes the hem of her very short dress and points a finger at his face.

“I gave you a chance,” she says. “You didn’t tell me not to.”

“I told you not to,” Neil snaps. “Just because I didn’t reiterate that last night doesn’t mean you had a free pass! And I didn’t even see that message until five minutes ago.”

Allison crosses her arms.

“You know, for someone who claims not to care about sex, you sure get up in my business about it a lot,” she says sourly. “Isn’t it my choice who I want to share my glorious, magnificent body with? Are we not in the twenty-first century?”

Neil makes a frustrated noise.

“Why did it have to be Seth, though? Out of all the people at the bar who were probably salivating over you, couldn’t you have picked someone who doesn’t live here?”

There’s a creak further down the corridor, and Neil realises they have stopped whispering.

Allison seems to realise at the same time, and her face twists guiltily for a moment. Then Renee appears, sleep-tousled and puffy-eyed, and flashes them a watery smile on her way past to the kitchen.

“I should go,” Allison says. “Call me when you’ve pulled your head out of your ass.”

“I’m not the one with my-”

The door doesn’t slam, exactly, but it seems now that Renee is awake Allison doesn’t much care about waking anyone else.

Neil sighs.

Renee pops her head in and asks, “I’m making tea. Do you want some?”

“I’m fine,” Neil says.

Renee shrugs. “Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“How about breakfast?”

Neil is about to decline when he sees the slightly desperate look in her face, like she’s trying very hard to act normal and not think about what she just witnessed.

Neil sighs again.

“Yeah, alright. Breakfast sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg x


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fist on table* FRIENDSHIP! anyone order seconds? because we got extra helpings of that tonight, so. dig in x

Things are slightly off between Seth and Renee the next few days. Not enough to draw attention, not enough for anyone other than Neil to notice. He doesn’t even think Seth notices, until he finds himself bullied to some bar with Seth on Friday night to listen to “the crappiest band in the entire town” and sees Seth looking like he wants to ask Renee along but decides at the last minute not to.

Neil isn’t going to pry. Renee is very careful not to let anything show, of course, though Neil catches a glimpse of Andrew climbing over the back of the sofa with two cups of hot chocolate to join her where she’s hugging a cushion and watching a cooking show with a forlorn look on her face.

Alright, then, he thinks. Andrew is going to deal with Renee, so Seth is his responsibility for the night.

The band does not disappoint. It really is incredibly crappy, so much so that Neil has to wonder if it’s all just a gimmick. Considering the amount of people who’ve shown up tonight, it’s working, too.

“So, Allison,” Seth says without prelude when the band takes a break and Neil comes back with another round of beer for Seth and ginger ale for himself. “A little birdie told me that you haven’t talked to her all week.”

Neil bites down on an ice cube and winces at the pain clacking against his teeth.

“No offence, but that’s none of your business,” he says. He tops up his glass even though he barely drank anything.

“She feels bad, man,” Seth tells him, taking a swig of his beer. “But you know how she is. Too proud to be the bigger man.”

“Well, she’s not a man,” Neil feels compelled to say. “Wait, you’re still talking to her?”

“Uh, yeah,” Seth says, amused. “She’s good fun, why wouldn’t I?”

Neil frowns.

“Because you two hooked up?”

Seth looks baffled.

“So? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Isn’t it, like, awkward,” Neil asks. “I mean… It was just sex. Right?”

“You can have just sex and still be chill,” Seth shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

Neil picks at the label on his bottle, feeling itchy and irritated and all wrong.

“Maybe not to you,” he mutters, just as the music starts back up.

“What was that?”

Seth, whose hearing is, as he says, “fucked ten ways from too many concerts and clubs”, leans close enough that Neil can smell his aftershave.

“Nothing,” Neil shouts.

They suffer through two more songs before Seth decides he’s had enough auditory torture and pulls him outside. Christmas lights have started appearing in windows, along with hideously ugly Thanksgiving displays and premature plastic Santas. The world feels too quiet after the noise inside, and Neil pinches his nose and tries to get his ears to pop against the weight of the static pressing down on them.

They walk in silence for a while, then Seth abruptly stops.

“Ok. What’s your problem?”

Neil tries to keep walking but Seth grabs him. “Nothing,” Neil insists, trying to shake him off.

Seth gives him a look and then spots a bench and pulls him over to it, sitting them both down. Sometimes Neil hates how small he is, but it does mean he can perch his feet on the edge and pull his knees to his chest.

“Are you mad at me for sleeping with Allison?”

“No,” Neil tries to say, but it comes out sort of awkward and directed at the traffic whizzing past. Seth waits, and Neil says, “It’s just that I don’t understand how people can treat something – something like that, something I can’t enjoy with, with just anyone. So – casually. I don’t understand.” He’s frustrated, and waves a hand idly and glares at Seth.

“Ah,” says Seth, low and unhurried, leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees. “Is this about Andrew?” Neil goes still, and blinks, and waits to get hit with it. Better to get hit than sign your own death sentence. “I, uh, noticed you two seem pretty… close?” Neil looks away. “And Andrew’s pretty obvious when he wants something.”

“Great,” snaps Neil.

“So… you’re sleeping with him?”

Neil picks at a thread on his jeans and doesn’t answer that. He doesn’t really know how to.

“Ok, so why is that different? Why are you giving me shit?”

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Neil insists again. “I’m mad at Allison. She just never knows when not to.”

“Sounds like you’re calling her a slut,” Seth says, arms crossed and frowning.

“That’s not what I meant. You guys are my –” He falters, and licks his lips, and looks away. “That house is my home and I don’t want her causing trouble. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

He’s holding himself so tightly, and staring into traffic so that the bouncing headlights are almost blinding in the dark.

Seth is quiet for a minute, then two, then says, “Neil. We wouldn’t kick you out, man.”

“She’s my friend.”

“You’re our friend too.” Neil looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and Seth shrugs, and puts one hand on Neil’s shoulder, looking away until Neil feels his body untense, one muscle at a time, until the grip around his knees is no longer painful. “Anyway,” Seth adds, “master fucking deflector. Tell me about Andrew.”

Neil lets out a breath, then stands and says, “Nope,” and starts walking in the direction of home.

-

Neil’s the one who suggests the next mandatory house bonding night. It’s been a while since everyone could make it. He doesn’t invite Allison.

They go to the movies, and Andrew gets an obscenely large tub of popcorn that Neil adds salt to on top of the butter and steals from occasionally where he’s tucked up next to Andrew at the end of the row. Andrew spends some of the time scratching his fingers around Neil’s knee, and Neil throws popcorn at him. He whispers, “Stop that,” around a smile.

Andrew stops, but he whispers back, “Die mad about it,” and something catches in Neil’s throat at the faint memory which apparently exists in Andrew’s head too.

Afterwards they all go to a diner, and Andrew gets two milkshakes, a strawberry and a chocolate and gives the former to Neil, but when Neil’s bored of it ends up mixing the two for what he calls a chocberry special, and it occurs to Neil maybe they are being kind of obvious. He just wishes he knew about what.

Matt is trying to rope Andrew into his and Dan’s exy conversation – they’re all going to Kevin’s soon for the final NCAA game of the semester – so Neil turns to Seth and Renee. Seth is talking about the show they haven’t had time to watch recently, and Renee is nodding a little dispiritedly.

Neil says, “Where did we get up to?”

Seth lights up a little and glances at Renee, who smiles at Neil. “Episode 19, I think.”

“Great,” Neil says, and carries a conversation about a show he joined in half way through and barely pays attention to.

On the walk home, Andrew is walking by Renee and Neil, but then gets distracted when Matt finds a squirrel. It gives Neil an opportunity to blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

Renee gives him an odd look, still somewhat distracted by the image of two adult men trying to befriend a squirrel. “About what?”

Neil tries to think of a nice way to say  _ Sorry my friend flirted with you and then slept with your friend and everything is complicated now, if it even is for you, because it’s apparently not for them, but it is for me _ .

In the end he simply settles for, “About Allison.”

Renee sighs and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“It’s fine,” she says around a grimace. “I just… need to get over it. It’s not like I had some sort of… claim over her.”

“What,” Neil jokes lightly, “you didn’t call dibs? Rookie mistake.”

Renee’s mouth twitches.

“I’m not used to-” She jerks her hand in the air, trying to wring meaning from it.

“Being in a love triangle?”

“No,” Renee huffs. “I’m just. People don’t usually take such an interest in me. It’s weird to be…”

“Seen? Wanted?” Neil suggests, his throat suddenly tight. “Yeah. That’s…”

“Yeah,” Renee says.

They’re both quiet, watching as Dan googles what squirrels eat on her phone, Matt tries to sweet talk the little thing into coming closer, Andrew throws acorns at it, and Seth eggs him on.

“They’re not even drunk,” Renee sighs, shaking her head. She catches Neil’s gaze and they both look away, hiding a grin.

“Did you know that squirrels are opportunistic cannibals?” Neil throws out, just to see what happens.

Seth boos, Matt makes a strangled sound and Dan’s googling increases frantically. Only Andrew regards Neil with a slightly curious look.

“Don’t,” Renee laughs, though she doesn’t tell the others that Neil just made that up.

“Fun fact: if a pigeon loses a leg, it will regrow,” Neil adds. “It’s true, look it up.”

“You’re full of shit,” Seth says, but pulls his phone out to check. Neil counts that as a win and holds his hand out for Renee to high five.

She shoots him an exasperated look and gently touches her hand to his.

“You are ice cold,” Neil informs her.

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed,” Renee says drily.

Neil holds his hands out. She looks at them for a moment, then puts her own in his. They’re very cold, and very small, and surprisingly calloused and chapped for someone so sweet and gentle. Neil tries his best to rub warmth into them, though with limited success.

“Guys,” he calls out. “A little help here? Renee is freezing!”

“Noooooo,” Matt yells, bounding over like a puppy and wrapping Renee up in a giant bear hug. Seth puts his arms around both of them and nearly sweeps Renee off her feet entirely in the process, Dan takes over rubbing Renee’s hands where they stick out of the tangle, and even Andrew walks over and puts his beanie hat on her.

Somewhere underneath all that Renee is wheezing with laughter, and Neil feels a little better.

-

It’s nearly Thanksgiving. Neil is used to celebrating it with Kevin and his family, but he hasn’t seen them for a while and feels weird about it, so he’s somewhat relieved when Andrew brings it up. 

“Renee, Matt and Dan will go home to their families, but Seth will stay here. My brother is coming over. Do you want to join us.”

It’s sort of apropos of nothing, they have been enjoying a quiet morning in the house, cereal and tv and legs entangled, and Neil turns to look at Andrew. He says, “Oh. Yeah. Maybe. I usually spend it with Kevin, but…”

Andrew looks at him. “You and him go way back?”

Neil shrugs. “I wouldn’t say  _ way  _ back.”

“You know his family.”

“I guess.”

Andrew hums and looks away. “Spend it with us.”

“Ok.” He thinks about it for a moment, then adds, “Can I invite Jean?” Andrew glares at him, unimpressed, and Neil grins. “You know, because he’s tall and French and handsome.”

Andrew throws a cushion at him and goes back to his cereal, a little sulky. “Do whatever you want.”

Neil finishes his cereal, wrangles kissing out of Andrew, and then leaves to make a phone call.

“Hey,” says Jean’s voice, warm but a little hassled. “Neil. How are you?”

“Great,” says Neil dismissively. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Come here if you want.”

There’s silence, and Neil can hear Jean get up and move around. “Really?” he asks.

“Sure,” says Neil. “It’ll be us and Seth and Aaron. Probably Aaron’s boring girlfriend.”

Jean chuckles, and then asks, “It’s  _ us _ now is it?”

Neil feels warm, and embarrassed, and pleased that he’s gone to his bedroom to be two floors away from Andrew. “Um. No, I just meant –”

“I did not mean to tease,” Jean says gently.

“So, uh, do you want to come?”

Jean sighs, and says, “Jeremy is going home to California. I think – I’m not sure –”

“I can be your back up,” Neil says happily. “If Jeremy doesn’t realise what’s good for him, you’ll come to us. Ok?”

Jean is quiet, and Neil uses the time to look around for his squeezy ball, which he seems to have misplaced. He opens a box, and then Jean says, quietly, “Thank you.”

Neil hangs up and sits on the edge of his bed. He thinks about it for a moment, and then texts Kevin,  _ spending thanksgiving with house, ok? _

And Kevin, true to form, replies immediately with  _ ok  _ and then  _ but you owe my dad a visit _ and Neil turns his phone off and puts it under his pillow.

There’s a knock on his door then, and this time Neil gets up, opens the door, and drags Andrew inside.

It’s nice, and they’re making out, and Neil is wondering why they haven’t done anything more yet. Usually by now Andrew has pushed his hand under Neil’s waistband, or, more recently, reached out for the lube he now keeps by Neil’s bed. They’ve only done that a few more times, but Neil is keen for a repeat experience. Wonders what it would be like to do it to Andrew. He melts into Andrew’s mouth and sighs happily.

Andrew stills a little at that, and pulls away an inch. Neil grabs onto his t-shirt and twists it a little between his fingers. “Hmm?” he asks, dazed.

Andrew frowns at him. He reaches out a finger and pushes a curl of hair behind Neil’s ear, and Neil turns his head to kiss Andrew’s wrist, and Andrew pulls him forward again. Neil pulls the comforter over them, because he’s cold, and Andrew holds him a little closer, and keeps kissing him.

-

Neil is getting ready for work, Andrew sat cross-legged in his doorframe, when Andrew says, “What’s Allison doing today?”

Neil frowns at him. “How would I know?”

Andrew shrugs. Assesses his nails. The black polish probably needs repainting, but Neil secretly likes them a little chipped. It feels more like Andrew. “What’s she doing for Thanksgiving?”

Neil grabs his bag and stuffs a spare sweater into it, and they go downstairs. Andrew grabs some leftovers out of the fridge and starts putting a portion into some tupperware, and Neil hops onto a counter to watch him, completely failing not to feel so pleased. He says, “Why do you care?”

“You haven’t been talking to her.”

Neil shrugs. It’s true, but he doesn’t see what Andrew has to do with it.

Andrew hands him the tupperware, and crosses his arms, and leans against the fridge. “Is it because of Seth? Or Renee?”

“Both,” says Neil, feeling awkward suddenly, stuffing his dinner into his bag, hopping down from the counter and not meeting Andrew’s eye.

“Renee’s a big girl.”

“I know.”

“And Seth can do what he wants.”

“I know.”

Andrew cocks his head. “It’s just sex, Neil.”

Neil looks at him then. “I know,” he says. “I better go.” He turns away, grabs his coat and leaves for his shift.

-

After work, he texts Allison:  _ hey _ .

It takes less than a second for his phone to ring. He stares at the screen for a moment, at the silly picture he took of Allison, where she’s got a strand of her hair over her mouth like a moustache and is rolling her eyes, then he accepts the call.

“Are we talking again,” Allison says at once. “Because I’m tired of not talking.”

“Yeah,” Neil says, something like relief pricking at his edges. “Me too.”

“Good,” Allison sniffs.

They’re both quiet. Then Neil says: “Look…”

And Allison says: “So…”

“You first,” Neil offers.

“No, you first,” Allison insists.

Neil sighs, kicking his leg against the wall. It’s cold. The ground looks bony white, the frost shimmering like corpse light against the night. Traffic rushes in the distance, and there’s a pink-eyed sliver of horizon that is rapidly swelling shut.

“You can sleep with whoever you want,” Neil forces himself to say.

“Yeah,” Allison says. “I can.”

“You can sleep with Seth,” Neil adds. “Or Renee. I don’t care.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m just,” Neil says, chewing on his thumbnail, “I don’t want to leave.”

Allison is silent for a moment.

“If they kick you out, I will personally hire a contract killer and have them all brutally murdered,” she says, fiercely.

“Thanks,” Neil says drily, though he feels a little warmer.

She sighs.

“I’m not good at this, Neil, you know that.”

“Apologising?” Neil asks. “Yeah, no shit.”

“No,” Allison huffs. “You know. Relationships. The serious stuff. I went home with Seth because it seemed like the easier option. Just sex, no strings attached.”

“Everyone always seems to think so,” Neil says, frustrated. “What if it’s not just sex, though?”

“Then we get scared,” Allison says. “And do dumb shit. Like not talk to our friends, or hurt people we love.”

“Did you hear that from your therapist or did you think of it all by yourself,” Neil teases.

“No therapist shaming in this house, Neil,” Allison tuts. “One day you will realise you would greatly benefit from one, and then I will be there for you, to lovingly tell you I told you so.”

Neil barks out a laugh that plumes out like smoke in the freezing air.

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“We’re doing Thanksgiving,” Neil says, switching his phone to his other ear and tucking his cold hand into his pocket, scrounging for warmth. “Wanna come?”

“All y’all?” Allison jokes.

“Um, me, Seth, Andrew and his brother, maybe his brother’s girlfriend, maybe Jean.”

“Sure,” Allison says casually, though Neil can hear a note of genuine relief in her voice. She doesn’t usually have anyone to spend holidays with either, and while she pretends she doesn’t care about any of that stuff anyway, he knows she gets maudlin and will probably end up drinking herself into a stupor if left to her own devices.

“Great,” Neil says. “Come over whenever you like. Bring food and or booze.”

“You bet.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> le GRIN xxx
> 
> a note from hedy: oh also some of you have been asking for a playlist. we don't really have one, but the first scene a while ago when neil was finding some playlist andrew had found him and fell asleep, and then andrew used it later to help 'relax him', i was listening to this song while writing my part of those bits, so now we've decided novo amor are andrew and neil's romantic indie band:
> 
> Decimal by Novo Amor  
> https://open.spotify.com/track/1uliNs1keVwYclj74JX44R?si=bn9UX_MURPmgwx9vZDJ20A

Andrew slips into Neil’s room on the morning of Thanksgiving and says, “Are you awake?” Neil picks up his spare pillow without looking and throws it at him. When he opens one eye to glare, it’s to see a shirtless Andrew, sweatpants low on his hips, holding the pillow and lifting the edge of Neil’s sheets in question. Neil shuffles back and lets Andrew tuck inside next to him, shifting forward and kissing him. Neil grins against him and slips his fingers into Andrew’s bedhead. “What’s wrong with you?”

Andrew shrugs and wraps his hands around Neil’s waist, playing with the hem of the crappy old shirt he wears to bed. “I was cold.” He runs one hand down over Neil’s ass.

“So you’re using me now.” Neil edges forward, slipping one leg in between Andrew’s, giving Andrew better access.

“Don’t look surprised, what do you think this is?” Andrew pulls a little at Neil’s boxers, shifting a palm inside.

Neil swallows at the skin to skin contact, Andrew’s hand warm and kneading against him, and says, “Well I _thought_ you were using me for sex.”

“For your body,” Andrew corrects, pressing them closer together. “It’s warmer than mine. I’m being economical.”

“Sure,” Neil says, wrapping a hand around the back of Andrew’s neck and kissing him lazily, feeling Andrew’s finger dip lower.

-

They don’t go much further than teasing though. There’s a group text on Andrew’s phone handing out instructions. Neil assumes Seth is downstairs, bored, and waiting for entertainment, since the instructions mostly consist of “stop being boring and come and help me make a shopping list you lazy fuckers”, which doesn’t sound more interesting than what they’re currently doing, but Andrew returns to his bedroom and Neil hops in the shower, smiling under the spray.

When he gets downstairs, Renee and Seth are on the sofa, a notepad in Seth’s hand and a pen between Renee’s lips. Neil frowns, “Renee, I thought you left last night.”

Renee looks round and smiles at him. “Good morning, Neil.”

“It’s Thanksgiving, asshole, thanks for _getting up_.”

Renee shoves a hand in Seth’s face and continues, “My flight got cancelled. Too much snow near mom.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Neil says genuinely.

“No it doesn’t,” says Seth. Renee throws her pen at him half-heartedly. He catches it and grins. “Because this means we get you. And your mom has her church friends, right? She’ll be fine.” He shrugs and writes down _buy lots of good shit_ at the top of his notepad, and Renee smiles at Neil. Neil feels happy and warm and like he’s surrounded by family, but because he’s not completely stupid he gets out his phone and sends a text to Allison while he’s gathering breakfast that says, _change of plans. renee joining us today_.

He gets one back a few minutes later: _!!!_

And another one: _oh shit oh shit oh shit_

Neil replies, _better look hot._

Allison says, _well obviously. shit._

Andrew comes into the kitchen, takes a bowl of cereal from Neil, steals the milk and says, “Grocery store?”

Neil nods. “Seth’s making a list.”

Andrew rolls his eyes and takes his bounty into the living room. Neil follows, and pauses by the blackboard where someone has written THANKSGIVING BITCHES and someone else has drawn a halo above the word ‘bitches’. Neil grabs some purple chalk and adds stars around the outside. Then he draws a little figure for each of them – himself, Seth, Andrew, Renee, Allison and Jean, conveniently forgetting Aaron and his girlfriend – and gives them silly little sweaters with their names on them. Then he adds in a few pumpkins of different shapes and sizes.

“Why are you drawing penises and boobs on the blackboard,” Seth asks.

“They’re not,” Neil frowns. “They’re pumpkins.”

“Right,” Seth smirks, patting his shoulder on his way past to put on his boots. Andrew is scribbling last minute additions on the shopping list and catches Neil as he tries to sneak back upstairs, twirling him around and nudging him towards his shoes.

“We don’t all have to go,” Neil grumbles.

“Yes, we do,” Andrew says. “If I have to suffer so do you.”

“Sap,” Neil tells him, grinning.

Andrew cuffs him round the head, not hard enough to hurt, and Neil slips into his jacket and follows them outside.

At the store, they get a big cart and just start filling it with anything that looks Thanksgiving themed. Andrew and Renee are trying to keep them on track with vegetables, turkey and a pie crust, but Seth keeps loudly singing Christmas carols and dumping random stuff into the cart, and Neil has no idea where to even begin. His main contribution is a punnett of fresh cranberries and a bag of pears, and the last pint of the candy corn, M&M, pretzel and peanut butter ice-cream abomination Andrew has spent the last month eating.

He gets a heated look for that and leans low over the cart, tucking a smirk into his elbow.

Jean is waiting for them when they park Andrew’s car outside the house and haul their groceries inside. He’s brought a bottle of wine and a sticky pecan pie that Andrew eyes with reluctant longing, so Neil puts it away in the fridge to save it from an early demise. Andrew and Renee start preparing the food, falling naturally into step and blasting music while they work, and Jean awkwardly makes himself useful by setting the table and weaving some sort of centrepiece out of Renee’s candles, some of the colourful napkins they bought and a few twigs and pinecones from outside. Seth whistles when he sees it and says something about it being “Pinterest-worthy”, and Jean fidgets uncomfortably at the praise.

Andrew is making some sort of cranberry and pear tart when Neil checks back into the kitchen. He bats Neil’s hand away from trying to steal a cranberry and Neil darts around to his other side, sneaking another one and earning himself a smack to his backside with a towel. He laughs and escapes with his bounty, nearly walking into Aaron and Katelyn in the hallway where they are trying to juggle their coats, more wine, and some sort of cheese and fruit plate under cling foil wrap.

“Oh, you’re here,” Aaron says, disappointed.

“Ah, Aidan and Kathryn,” Neil shoots back with a mournful look, before mock-shouting: “Guys, bad news, they didn’t get into a car crash on the way over, after all.”

Katelyn looks a little out of her depth, but Aaron just smirks and makes sure to bump into him as he carries the cheese plate into the kitchen. Neil nods awkwardly at Katelyn, hands stuffed in his back pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet, then walks into the living room where Jean and Seth are in a heated debate about a movie.

“So, no Jeremy?” Neil interrupts, sidling up to Jean.

“No Jeremy,” Jean confirms, dry and sparkling like white wine.

“Jean and I will be bachelor buddies,” Seth says, holding his hand out for a fistbump. Jean eyes it, puzzled, before giving in.

“Technically we’re all bachelors, since none of us are married,” Neil points out.

“Yeah, but everyone else has their person around,” Seth shrugs.

“I don’t have a person,” Neil says blankly.

Seth looks bemused.

Jean smiles at him.

“It’s not like that,” Neil says, flopping down on the couch next to Jean, who pats him on the head a little. “Also, _shush_ ,” he adds, feeling very aware of the presence of Andrew’s brother in the house. “Anyway, let’s talk more about Jeremy.”

“Ah,” says Jean, removing his hand and folding it into his lap. “Let’s not.”

“Great,” says Seth, eyeing the clock and snatching a beer from the coffee table when he sees it’s 12:05. “Catch me up.”

“Mm,” says Jean, looking at Neil a little panickedly.

Neil shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re ok with me saying.”

“Anything,” Jean mumbles, slouching into the couch.

Neil tells Seth that Jean is asexual and Jeremy is pretty decidedly not, and that they’re basically in love but Jean is being stubborn about it because he doesn’t think that’s true.

Jean gives him a look for that. “You don’t know that.”

“Huh,” says Seth, swigging his beer again. “Cool.”

Jean glares at him. “Cool? My misery is cool to you?”

Seth grins. “Ah, young love.”

“We’re the same age. Probably,” he adds, eyeing Seth up and down.

“Not in experience. You haven’t even _asked_ him if he wants what you want.” He sighs. “I am _surrounded_ by amateurs.” Seth stands up, muttering something about going to hang out with the cool kids before abandoning them for the kitchen.

Jean looks at Neil. “He’s right, you know.”

Neil picks his feet into the couch and pulls at his socks. “Finally.”

“About you, I mean.”

Neil frowns at Jean. “What?”

“Have you even asked him?” Jean’s gaze is steady, knowing, and Neil’s heart is picking up speed in his chest, a livewire, frantic thing.

Neil picks up the tv controller and fumbles until he finds something terrible for them to watch, which they do in silence until Neil tells a terrible joke and Jean sighs dramatically at him.

Allison arrives a little after that with a smart three knocks on the door, and Neil hears Seth let her in. “Hey beautiful,” he says at the door, and then Allison appears in the living room, hair all up on her head and curls escaping down over her face, short skirt hugging her hips that must be freezing in the November air and some retro t-shirt tucked in and tight.

She grins at Neil, holding something in each hand. “I brought food and or booze.”

Neil stands, taking the bottle of vodka and the vodka-jelly-beans and leading her to the kitchen. “You know Aaron, right?” he says as they walk in, Jean trailing behind them.

“The gang’s all here!” announces Seth.

Aaron eyes them warily from where he’s folded into the corner next to Andrew, chopping something expertly. Katelyn smiles and introduces herself, earning an enthusiastic handshake from Allison. “Excellent, more female representation.”

“I’ve always thought this group could do with a little more of that,” agrees Katelyn with a teasing smile. Aaron glares at her, but it’s so full of fondness Neil has to look away before he can’t help the fake-retch bubbling into his throat.

“So. I brought vodka?” says Allison into the room, a little uncertainly.

“Even better,” says Seth.

Renee is checking on the turkey, and grabbing herbs out of the cupboard, and Andrew elbows her very unsubtly and Renee just shakes her head at him, and Allison looks at Neil.

Neil says, “Well,” unhelpfully.

Seth watches all this, and grabs another beer out of the fridge. “Who wants a drink?”

He hands out beers to Allison, Andrew and Jean, fills two glasses of orange juice for Neil and Renee, white wine for Aaron and Katelyn, and then, as eight people stand a little crowded in the kitchen, finally chatting away in small groups, says loudly, “Man I’m sure glad not to be sleeping with Allison anymore.” Everyone goes quiet, and Allison’s eyes widen. Renee stills at the counter and Andrew finally looks round, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Hey, here’s a toast to having sex once and now just being good old friends, eh Reynolds?”

Allison bursts out laughing, and clicks her beer against his. “I’ll drink to that.”

Seth grins. “Right. Now that that’s out of the way, too many cooks et cetera. There’s gotta be something on the fucking tv.”

“Exy,” Jean suggests, straightening.

“Kevin isn’t here,” Neil points out.

Jean looks at him, and fiddles with his beer. “I think there’s a rerun of Casablanca.”

“Perfect,” says Seth, folding a hand over Jean’s shoulder and steering him out of the kitchen.

Aaron and Katelyn are looking at each other and as they leave the kitchen Aaron whispers to Neil, “What the fuck?” Neil just grins at him and shrugs.

Neil sways between the kitchen and the living room, dipping in and out of conversations, stealing food Andrew is in the middle of preparing and half-wishing he could steal kisses instead. When everything is done, he helps carry the platters out to the table, and they only manage to squeeze it all on because Seth performs some minor Tetris miracle.

Renee shyly says a little prayer, and then they eat.

It’s good. Really, really good. Neil thinks he might have seconds of everything, but then someone starts a political debate and Neil can’t help jumping in and listing all the ways Aaron is deeply, offensively wrong, and in the heat of the moment he kind of forgets to eat. Halfway through dismantling Aaron’s ego he catches Andrew’s dark, heavy gaze and it shivers through him like fairy dust, slowly igniting his insides and breathing life back into the embers of this morning’s leftover desire. He loses his track of thought for a moment, giving Aaron another opportunity to lay into him, and Neil folds it all down small like a napkin and tucks it away for later.

They take a break after lunch and play board games, though the whole thing quickly devolves into a competitive mess. Trivial Pursuit boils down to an epic show-down between the twins, Risk turns into all-out war. Neil is just about losing his will to live when Renee calls for a break and suggests serving dessert, effectively creating a united front again.

Neil eats two slices of Andrew’s pear and cranberry tart. Allison, Renee, Katelyn and Jean all rally and go for a walk after, while Seth takes a nap and Neil thoroughly thrashes both Andrew and Aaron at every single card game they know how to play.

Andrew’s eyes keep lingering on him. It makes Neil feel overheated and shivery, and he finally leaves them to pick up the pieces of their dignity in peace and goes for a run in the nearest park, chasing the last strawberry hues of sunset through the inky dark.

If he takes more care in the shower after than usual, well. No one’s going to know, and he’d rather be prepared for all eventualities of what the night might bring.

Aaron and Katelyn leave after a last glass of wine. Katelyn tipsily hugs everyone, which Neil neatly sidesteps, hiding behind Seth until they’re out the door. Aaron pulls Andrew aside to say something to him that Neil can’t hear and Andrew rolls his eyes and gives him a shove, then they’re off and the house narrows down a little, snug around the remaining guests and the rhythmic humming of the dishwasher.

Andrew makes hot chocolate with whiskey. Allison, Seth and Jean split the remaining pecan pie between them and pass the vodka around. Renee sits perched on the arm of Allison’s chair, looking rosy-cheeked and cosy in her knitted sweater, and Neil sits on the floor, carefully stretching out his legs.

Still Andrew’s eyes follow him, drinking him in. He might be half-hard in his sweatpants; good thing he put on Seth’s old t-shirt earlier, which hangs down to his thighs. He’s barefoot and languid, loose and warm after his run, slightly riled up after his shower. His gaze snags on Andrew’s once again and he bends lower into the stretch, wrapping both hands around his foot and relishing the burn in his legs.

Allison leans up to whisper something in Renee’s ear, trailing a hand down her arm. Renee laughs and swats her away, but somehow their fingers get tangled up, and Allison holds Renee’s hand in her lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world; casual and smug.

Neil looks away.

“Ok,” Seth says in reply to something Allison said. “Ok, ok. If not boobs, though, what’s the sexiest body part?”

“Hands,” Allison shoots back immediately.

“Ass,” Andrew suggests. “Legs.”

“Mouth,” Jean muses, sipping at the vodka.

“Personality,” Renee pipes up with a wry little grin.

Seth throws his hands up in defeat.

“I see I’m outnumbered. Y’all don’t have any taste. Neil, my man, my dude, back me up here.”

“Uhh,” Neil says, caught out. For some reason he looks at Andrew, as if that will help. Andrew runs a finger over the top of his mug and Neil looks away hurriedly. He hopes no one noticed. “Yes,” he says.

Seth frowns. “Yes?”

“Or, no.”

Renee laughs. “We’ve broken him.” Neil looks up to find himself the centre of attention. He’s avoiding looking at Andrew now, who’s watching him curiously.

Seth presses, “Come on Neil, ass or boobs man?”

“Neither?” says Neil, tucking his legs back into himself and holding onto them. “It doesn’t really work like that for me.”

“Me neither,” says Jean quickly, in solidarity. Neil gives him a grateful look.

Seth shrugs and returns to finding photos of hot female celebrities on his phone and showing them to Allison and Renee for comment.

Jean leaves pretty soon after that, and Neil leans up to give him an awkward hug. Jean says, “Thank you. For inviting me,” and smiles at him.

Neil grins. “You’re ok, Moreau.”

Jean chuckles and closes the door behind him, and then Neil is feeling tired, and itchy, and hangs in the living room doorway to say, “I might head to bed.”

“It’s early,” Seth complains.

Neil shrugs.

Andrew stands and says, “I want to watch the second robots vs aliens movie.”

Neil frowns at him. “Why? The first one was terrible.”

“I seem to remember you didn’t mind one of the robots.” Andrew is moving around, collecting his phone and abandoning his blanket and Neil feels his face heat.

“Ok,” he says quickly. And then, after a beat, “Whatever.”

“ _Mwah_ ,” says Allison without much interest, scrolling through Seth’s phone while Renee and Seth look at each other fondly over her head.

Andrew shuts the living room door behind them and kisses him into the wall. Neil whispers, “Not here,” and Andrew abruptly lets go and tugs him up the stairs.

He goes into his own room, and presses his fingers into Neil’s skin and his lips to his mouth and says, “What do you want,” with urgency, playing at the hem of Neil’s large shirt.

Neil pants, “Fuck me?”

Andrew growls into his mouth and it’s so hot Neil thinks he melts there and then, but instead he’s being lifted by the waist and shoved onto the bed, and he bounces a little but then Andrew is on top of him, pressing him into the mattress and kissing him. Neil threads his fingers into Andrew’s hair, and then Andrew pulls away a little to say, “Today has been the worst.”

“I thought it was ok,” Neil manages, as Andrew sucks on his neck, running a hand up the outside of his shirt.

Andrew grunts. “Wanted this,” he says, biting into Neil’s skin before Neil can reply.

When thought returns to him he just says, “You can –” and then grabs Andrew’s hand and shoves it up his shirt. Andrew immediately presses his palm to Neil’s side and Neil feels his entire body like it’s on fire wherever Andrew is touching him, or looking at him like that, or breathing into his mouth, squeezing his hip with one hand and stroking the back of his neck with the other.

“Want you,” Andrew says a little desperately, stopping his exploration of Neil’s torso and running his hand down to the string of his sweatpants, pulling.

“Yes,” Neil says, hoping it makes sense and arching up, letting Andrew shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one go.

Andrew takes him into his hand, but it’s slower than he expected, and something settles on Andrew’s face, like the weight, the feel of Neil is enough to calm him. It does the opposite to Neil, who squirms against an unyielding Andrew.

When he opens his eyes to look up exasperatedly, Andrew looks curious. He runs a finger down the side of Neil’s face, right over his scar, his other hand tugging Neil’s cock fast and then slow, and then stopping all together, over and over again. Neil thinks he might die. Andrew says, “You don’t have a favourite body part.”

Neil outright glares at him. “I’m a little – um – busy.”

“Hmm.” 

Andrew waits. He’s good at waiting, Neil knows, so Neil clutches Andrew’s biceps and says, “It doesn’t – I’ve – uh – never – oh my _god_ Andrew,” gasping and shifting a little on the bed, “I don’t see people like that.”

“Huh.”

And then Andrew removes his hand and walks his fingers lower and Neil says, “Your fucking _fingers.”_

Andrew stops, one finger parting Neil’s cheeks, and looks at him. “What?”

“My – your – I like your fingers,” Neil clarifies quietly.

Andrew looks at him in extreme exasperation, and kisses him so softly it’s in direct opposition to the obscene way he feels around Neil with his finger, before removing it entirely to grab lube. When he sinks in easily, feels the residual stickiness there, he stops kissing him and groans against his mouth.

“You-”

“Yes,” Neil says quickly. “Keep going.”

“In the shower,” Andrew asks.

“Yeah. A bit.”

“Fuck,” Andrew whispers, and adds a second finger. Neil arches against him and curls his toes, doesn’t even care that his shirt is riding up. Andrew finds his prostate like he has a mental map of exactly where it is, along with a diagram of how to move his fingers to make Neil see stars, and Neil kind of wants to die a little bit it’s so good.

They kiss messily while Andrew keeps playing with him. Neil’s legs strain open and his hips want to rock up into Andrew’s thrusts but Andrew puts one hot hand on his hip and pins him down. Every once in a while he eases up to look at him, as if to decide if he’s ready, then gets distracted kissing him again. Neil curls his legs experimentally around Andrew’s waist and pushes him closer, looks at him hazily and tries to convey without words that he’s ready.

This time he’s ready.

“Fuck, you’re so,” Andrew mutters, surging in for another kiss but pulling his fingers out and holding him open with one hand while he pushes his pants down and gets a condom on with the other. Neil scrabbles ineffectually at his t-shirt and Andrew purposefully doesn’t help, instead lines himself up and pokes his tongue out while he adjusts them and then-

“Yes?” he checks, just the tip of him pressed up against Neil, asking for entrance.

“Yes,” Neil says breathlessly. He tries to remember what went wrong the last time so he can do the opposite now, but Andrew is already pushing inside him and Neil breathes in and Andrew breathes out and it’s already better, and Neil feels so full, and so safe and so vulnerable all at the same time, and he needs to relieve some of the pressure or he’s going to come apart at the seams, so he reaches down and squeezes his hand around his cock until Andrew does it for him.

“Still yes?” Andrew checks. Stills, and licks his lips. Neil can feel him pushed up against him, so close.

He breathes in. And out.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Andrew looks at him, and looks and looks.

Neil wants to- he doesn’t know.

Wants.

Slowly, carefully, Andrew moves his hips, shallow at first and with a little twist at the end of each roll like he’s mapping him out all over again. Neil bites his lip. Andrew still looks at him. Neil reaches out a hand and traces the line of a vein in Andrew’s neck, a sweetwater river that starts at his jaw and gushes down into the ocean beyond his collarbone, and Andrew shivers. Cradles his face in one hand and nudges at his bottom lip with his thumb and Neil notices that he’s maybe drooling a little.

He’ll probably be mortified about that later.

Right now, Andrew is panting softly above him and tilting his head and rolling his hips and _focused_ , so focused on making Neil feel good.

And it does feel good. The longer Andrew keeps up the steady rhythm the more it builds up in him, like being hungry and eating only tiny bites. Neil pulls him down into another kiss and keeps him there, fingers fretting through Andrew’s slightly sweat-curled hair, playing with the down at the back of his neck until Andrew shudders and widens his pace and starts stripping his cock again.

It punches a moan from Neil.

His heart is beating so fast. Andrew’s pulse in his neck is strong and steady like his thrusts, shivering with restraint.

He wants it to last, wants to exist in this space forever, but Andrew is sliding into him over and over again and it’s all he can think about, and he knows it won’t.

Neil, feeling at the height of out of it, says, “Oh,” and “ _god_ ,” and “I didn’t know –”

And Andrew says, “Yes,” and “Yes, Neil,” and “This is – what it –” and doesn’t finish his sentence.

Neil wants to say something, wants some way to express what he’s feeling, but he can barely think, he’s surrounded by Andrew, and something about the way Andrew smells is so intoxicating, he presses a nose to Andrew’s cheek and listens to Andrew’s grunts, and hot breaths, and then suddenly says, “Oh shit, oh shit, Andrew –”

Andrew speeds up, wraps a hand around his cock and kisses him on the cheek, and then Neil is coming, Andrew’s name forming on his lips until Andrew licks into him, and Neil shudders against his mouth, and Neil thinks he might shout a little but it’s muffled and Andrew is groaning into him, and when Neil thinks he’s done, lifetimes later, he pulls his lips away to pant, “Come on Andrew,” and wraps his legs a little tighter around his waist, and then Andrew is shuddering against him and burying his forehead in Neil’s neck, and Neil wraps his arms around Andrew’s shoulders, feeling Andrew’s orgasm thundering through their skin.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this. what's this? there's something in the air (it's angst) (whoops)

They stay like that for a while, Andrew collapsed and heavy on top of him, moving his head to nose at Neil’s neck, Neil feeling every muscle clench and unclench as his body regains enough oxygen to say, “Well.”

Andrew chuckles against him, kisses his neck one last time, and then begins the process of sliding out. Neil closes his eyes. It’s uncomfortable, but at least Andrew takes his mess with him, takes his condom off and drops it in the bin. He’s up on his knees to the side of Neil, all softening cock and light hairs and abs and muscle and Neil frowns and says, “When do you even work out?”

Andrew doesn’t bother trying to hide his amusement, grabbing a wet wipe and cleaning Neil up carefully, quietly. Reverently, a kiss to his hip once he’s done. When he’s lying on his stomach beside Neil, head turned to look at him, he smirks and says, “I find time.”

Neil swallows, and as he eyes Andrew’s very naked body he realises his own shirt has ridden up to his armpits, and he waits to feel alarmed, or ashamed, but it doesn’t come. Andrew has already seen, even fucked him like this. It’s too late. He sits up a little and takes his shirt all the way off instead, throws it on the ground and settles back next to Andrew.

Andrew says, “Can I touch your chest?”

Neil finds himself nodding, mesmerized by the waning hazel in Andrew’s eyes. It’s dark, the only light in the room the dull glow of the bedside lamp. But Andrew is lit up. Neil keeps his eyes on Andrew’s face as Andrew looks down at his fingers charting a course over Neil’s scar-ridden skin. Neil wants to close his eyes, but he doesn’t, he just watches Andrew instead, Andrew’s dulled expression focused on the pathway of his fingers. They don’t talk, but somehow even the silence catches in Neil’s lungs, Andrew’s feathery light touch reminding him nothing at all of the delicious soreness in his body, and Neil marvels at how Andrew can be both these things at once, make Neil feel both these things at once: wanted, and soft, and strong, and delicate, and worth something, worth feeling what they just felt together, worth feeling this, now, Andrew touching Neil like he’s beautiful.

Andrew finally drags his eyes up to Neil’s, and Neil is surprised to find anger there. Neil frowns, and catches Andrew’s wrist, and whispers, “He’s dead.”

Andrew nods, and moves his hand up to catch Neil by the back of his neck, and kisses him like he’s worried he’ll float away.

Later, Neil finds Andrew’s phone, finds a playlist he likes, and Andrew snatches his phone back and makes him listen to something new for once, and Neil spends time teasing Andrew about all his song choices for the sake of being punished with kisses, and doesn’t even notice falling asleep.

-

Neil wakes up sticky and sweaty, blankets piled on him and Andrew’s body humming quiet warmth beside him. He squints at the alarm clock and then at the window and sees spidery trails of frost reaching out from the corners. Stifling a yawn in the pillow, he stretches and sits up, regrets not taking a shower the night before.

Remembers. The night before.

His stomach shivers pleasantly and he looks down at Andrew’s scrunched-up form. They really did… that. And Andrew made it good. Really, really good. And Neil kind of wants to do it all over again.

“What,” Andrew grumbles, glaring at him out of the one eye that isn’t swallowed up by his pillow.

“Nothing,” Neil says. He slides down again, twists on his side and shivers himself closer to Andrew’s warm body. “Morning.”

“Mmfgh,” Andrew replies.

Neil sets about teasing him slowly out of his morning grump with kisses and sweet little nuzzles along his face and neck and hands that make Andrew sigh and unfold a little. He still looks creased and bleary-eyed, but there’s a smug turn to his mouth when Neil starts kissing down his chest.

“Morning,” he mutters at last, when Neil reaches his waistband and noses at it.

They end up staying in bed past noon. Andrew looks entirely willing to stay even longer, but Neil starts to feel a bit restless and gross, so he gets up and stretches. Finds his clothes and pads silently over to his own room, which sits cold and forgotten like an abandoned cup of coffee. Thinks about a shower and decides on a hot bath instead, filling the tub to the brim. He adds some of the muscle-relaxing bath salts Allison gave him for Christmas last year and sinks into the water, groaning a little as the warmth seeps into his skin.

He stays in there until his fingertips are wrinkled and his limbs feel thoroughly jellified. Then he washes off, hauls himself out and wraps himself in a towel, puts on his trusty orange hoody and a pair of fleece-lined sweatpants and shuffles downstairs on wobbly legs.

“Neil! Buddy!” Matt greets him, fresh-faced and grinning. “We just got home. How’ve you been, how was your epic Thanksgiving?”

He loops Neil into a one-armed hug, though Neil still feels oversensitive and like everyone can tell just by looking at his face what he and Andrew did last night, so he wiggles free under the guise of checking the contents of the fridge.

“It was good,” he says, trying to mask his shivery insides with cheerfulness. “Jean was here, and I made Aaron hate me even more.”

“That’s a good thing?” Dan asks.

“Yep,” Neil hums. “Anyone want food?”

They make coffee, waffles, eggs and bacon despite the fact that it’s way too late for breakfast, drawing the rest of the house out of their beds with the delicious smell of cooking. Renee sits at the table wrapped in a blanket, with her hair sticking up and pillow creases on her face, smiling and texting as she eats. Seth seems to be doing the eating equivalent of sleep-walking, and Andrew keeps putting his bare feet up Neil’s sweatpants under the table, rubbing over his ankles and calves and smirking when he makes Neil shiver or squirm.

Matt is talking about his Thanksgiving, while Neil is trying his hardest not to move or look weird, and then Dan asks, “How about you guys? What did we miss?”

Neil is quiet, and Andrew is quiet, and Renee is quiet, so Seth says, “ _ Someone  _ got  _ someone else’s  _ number and has been  _ texting someone  _ all fucking morning.”

Renee looks at him, but she has such a big smile on her face it’s far from menacing.

Dan says, “Oh my god, Allison?” and Renee nods, and then it’s a whole big thing and Neil can finish his breakfast in peace. Lunch. Whatever.

Andrew leans over and says to Neil, “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Neil looks at him, misses the warmth his toes had been kneading into his ankle. “Um, nothing I think. Don’t have work.”

Andrew nods. “Gig, at the bar.”

“Is it you?”

“No.”

Seth butts in, “OH, is that the Fireside gig? Fireside suck  _ ass  _ I am in.”

Andrew frowns at him. “No they don’t.”

“Yeah, they do man, they’re all quiet and indie. Gag. You don’t like that kind of shit either. I’ll come if I’m allowed to suck them off.” Andrew frowns again, and Seth elaborates, “You know, not in a gay way.”

“Was that homophobia?” Renee says, pleased, one hand still on her phone, the other making headway into her breakfast.

Seth rolls his eyes, “Oh come on, it absolutely wasn’t.”

But Dan is standing from the table and getting a jar out of the cupboard. “This thing is dusty.” 

Seth glares at it, takes his wallet out and deposits a five dollar bill into the jar which has very little currently in it. “This is…  _ straight _ phobia.”

“Great,” Andrew says, taking the jar from Dan and looking inside. “Beer money.”

Neil is still thinking about the gig. “Quiet and indie?” he asks.

Seth is glaring at his breakfast, and Renee is patting him conciliatorily on the back.

Andrew looks at him. “Yes,” he says, and picks up his empty breakfast plate, and then Neil’s too, and then Matt’s after a moment of hesitation and dumps them in the sink.

Neil is smiling at his back, and then catches Matt’s inquisitive eye and tucks his smile away, and turns to Seth. “How do you suck someone’s dick not in a gay way?” Andrew huffs a laugh from where he’s washing up, and Seth is groaning, and doing his best to dig himself into a deeper hole, and Neil is avoiding Matt’s gaze and grinning at his friends.

-

Neil spends the next two days in a haze. Everyone is relaxed and floppy after a few days travelling or intense eating, and no one has work, and they spread out throughout the house in a way that’s become warm and familiar. On Friday night they watch a movie together, and Neil’s head is in Dan’s lap, her fingers carding through his hair softly as she describes the plot to him because he’s not really paying attention, Renee sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him and sharing popcorn with Andrew. Matt has his feet and Seth keeps fidgeting, leaving to go to the kitchen to get snacks, and drinks, and changing seats every few minutes. Neil falls asleep surrounded by their chatter, and in close proximity to Andrew, and thinks this might be it. 

When he wakes up, it’s the morning, and he’s in his bed, Bunny tucked in his blankets and resting against the spare pillow.

He and Andrew decide to make enchiladas for lunch, and it’s a whole thing of Andrew grabbing his hand and explaining how supermarkets work and dragging him out to the car and Neil blushing because Andrew held his hand in front of Matt and he doesn’t know what that means, and because it’s kind of hot when Andrew is a patronising asshole. He gives as good as he gets, explains facts about diabetes that he largely makes up as Andrew scrutinises the ice cream choices, and he gets thoroughly kissed in the car afterwards, and is hyper and flushing by the time they get back.

Andrew gets a phone call from Aaron, takes it while Neil is unpacking the shopping and comes back looking as blank as usual, answers Neil’s question with a pinch to his side.

Cooking with Andrew in the kitchen has become being berated for not knowing how to dance, but he grabs Seth, because that’s safer somehow, and gets him to show him some basic moves, and then it’s just Andrew cooking and shooting them amused glances as Seth manhandles Neil around the room, trying to get his hips to sway more smoothly, grinding against him until Andrew glares at him, laughing and peeling away and leaving while Andrew hands Neil a spoon with an annoyed look, tells him to stir something, and kisses him until Neil can’t remember what they’re even making.

-

They go to the gig, and the venue is dark and kind of hazy. Neil has spent the afternoon lying on various surfaces and feeling like his insides spontaneously turn into a popcorn machine every time he looks at Andrew, then he went for a run that turned into more of an impatient walk, and now he’s deliciously tired. Andrew goes off to buy the first round and Neil ends up shuffled in between Seth and Dan. The music is, as promised, quiet and indie. Neil leans back against the wall, loose and relaxed, sinks into the carefully curated sadness of the lyrics and the heavy tread of the piano. It makes him think of that first time Andrew fingered him, the way Andrew looked at him like Neil was the only person awake in a world of sleeping ghosts.

He rubs his palms over the goosebumps on his arms and shifts in his seat.

“We need booze!” Seth demands, smacking his fist on the table. “Where the fuck is fucking Minyard?”

“Probably got distracted by a hot piece of ass,” Dan jokes. “You know better than to let him near the bar when there’s sad indie boys on the loose.”

Neil can feel Matt’s eyes on him and tries to swallow down the sudden heartburn at the base of his throat. Andrew can flirt, if he wants to. It’s not like they ever made the mutual decision to be exclusive. Just because Neil is incapable of being anything other than exclusively, one hundred percent, point-of-no-return on or off, doesn’t mean Andrew can’t do whatever he likes with whichever sad indie boys he likes.

He’s not going to look at the bar.

He looks at the bar.

Andrew is talking to someone who Neil assumes fits the sad indie description. He’s propped against the counter, fingers playing with a napkin on a full tray of drinks. The bartender has moved down the line. The crowd shifts and people move across Neil’s vision, hiding them from sight, and he looks away.

“I’ll go,” Matt offers, sliding off his seat. “Maybe he needs help carrying stuff.”

Neil has the strange urge to intercept him. Somehow the thought of Matt seeing Andrew flirt with some random guy when Neil is right there makes him feel ashamed of himself. He’s still crammed in between Seth and Dan on the bench though, and it takes a while to pry his way free. By the time he makes it out of their booth and over to the bar, both Andrew and Matt have vanished, and there’s no sign of the sad indie boy either.

He circles around the room for a bit, increasingly annoyed when he has to squeeze through clumps of people, even though he’s just wandering aimlessly. Heart in his throat, he checks the toilets; none of the stalls are occupied. In the end he slips outside, wincing at the blast of icy cold air on his bare arms and wishing he’d brought his jacket. Several people stand around chatting, small clouds of cigarette smoke hanging suspended between them. A tall silhouette plucks at his attention, a glint of light from the street lamps on blond hair makes his heart contract in his chest, but neither of them turn out to be Matt or Andrew. He walks a few steps away from the door, then stops when he hears his name.

“...going on with you and Neil?”

They must be around the corner of the building. Neil shuffles closer, wrapping his arms around himself – maybe he can. Interrupt. Before-

“Nothing,” Andrew says.

“Didn’t look like nothing this morning,” Matt replies.

“Then maybe you need to get your eyes checked.”

“Maybe you’re the one who does. You saw the way Neil looks at you.”

There’s a scoff, or a cough.

“Neil gets it,” Andrew says. “We’re just fooling around. No need to play protective big brother.”

“Neil doesn’t just  _ fool around _ ,” Matt huffs. “He just doesn’t. Look, you need to be careful with him-”

“I made myself clear. If Neil still thinks this is more than a convenient arrangement, that’s his problem, not mine.”

A peculiar numbness spreads through Neil’s limbs in odd patches like local anesthesia.  _ Convenient _ . He clenches his hands and releases them, slowly. Turns his head so the white trail of his breath won’t creep around the corner and give him away.

Back inside, he gravitates towards the bar and hops on a stool. The guy he thinks he saw Andrew with has disappeared. Most people are at the front, near the stage where the band are, loose-limbed and soft. The music which had sounded so ethereal, so calming, had reminded him so much of him and Andrew, has gathered something bitter around it, something that sticks in his throat and means he can’t move from his stool. The barman comes over and Neil doesn’t notice until he says, “You want anything?”

Neil blinks at him. “Yes,” he says. “Um. Soda?”

“That all?”

Neil nods at him and the barman whisks away. He sits there for a while; first his soda appears, and he pays for it, and then Andrew appears, hopping on the barstool next to his and tugging on his sleeve.

Neil looks at him, and manages a smile. Andrew is assessing him, careful eyes, and removing his hand straight away. “Ok?” is all he asks.

“Yep,” says Neil. He looks around to see Matt rejoining the others and then stares at his soda again.

Andrew is quiet, matching Neil’s mood the way he always does. He gets the attention of the barman who starts piling the drinks Andrew must have ordered earlier onto a tray. Neil is statue still, feels like if he moved even an inch everything would come spilling out; his heart is pounding in his chest and his skin feels clammy and he starts to roll his sleeves up, then changes his mind when he remembers where he is, how many of his scars would be on show, pulling the sleeves carefully over his wrists instead.

Andrew says, “Little help?” as he starts arranging the drinks on his tray.

Neil says, to his soda, “I can take it over. You can go find that guy. If you want.”

Andrew stills then, and sits back down. “Why would I want to do that?”

Neil shrugs, still can’t look at him, gets to his feet and starts picking up the tray. “You just can. If you want.”

Andrew tugs on his sleeve, stands as well. Neil looks in the vague direction of his chin, and Andrew says, “I’m here with you. Don’t be an idiot.”

Anger flares through Neil and he pulls away from Andrew’s grip, sharp and sudden, and the tray falters in his grip, one drink knocking over and pouring something sticky everywhere, and Andrew reaching out just in time to steady the rest. They just stand like that for a second, and then Andrew puts both his hands around the tray, and Neil reluctantly lets go, grabs his soda, and walks off to the table without looking back.

Dan grins up at him and says, “Josten, I need you,” and Neil joins her and Renee on the side table at the end they’ve managed to scoop.

Andrew puts the tray down, and hovers, and then sits down next to Renee. Neil manages to avoid his eye completely for a while. But then he muscles his way into the conversation that Neil is barely following about the best gyms in the area, favourite gym equipment, some funny story about Renee out-benching a guy who’d tried to hit on her. Neil still feels too warm, and uncomfortable, and is half-wishing he could just go home and go to bed, when a song comes on that he recognises.

He can’t help it; excitement flares through him even over the sick feeling that’s settled in his stomach, and he locks eyes with Andrew involuntarily. Andrew smirks as Neil straightens.

“What?” says Dan, which is reasonable given that Neil figures he’d stopped talking half way through a sentence.

“Oh,” Neil says. “I just – I know this song.”

“It’s a cover,” Andrew says.

“Wow, way to be mainstream,” says Seth, loudly enough that Matt elbows him to be quiet.

Neil is looking over at the band, but he can’t really see them properly over the heads of all the people standing. Andrew gets to his feet and says, “Come on. Let’s go watch.”

Neil is hesitant; part of him feels stubborn, rooted to his seat, to the table, kind of wants to tell Andrew to fuck off; but part of him knows this is what he signed up for, and he’s never been able to resist it when Andrew wants something from him. He gets up, “Ok.”

As they pass the end of the table, Matt reaches for Neil, taps him on the arm and says, “Hey, Neil. Can we talk maybe?”

Neil shoots him a look. “No,” he says, and it comes out harsh, he can hear it, but he’s gone before he can fully register the hurt look on Matt’s face.

Andrew takes him up to the mezzanine, and they lean on the banister, and Neil feels himself smiling, and says, “I like this song.”

“I know,” says Andrew, nudging him gently.

Neil turns to look at Andrew, all soft expression staring back at him, frowning like he’s still working something out, blonde hair curling over his ear, and Neil reaches out a hand to push it back before he remembers that’s not what this is, and tucks his hand back into his elbow. He looks away, smile fading as quickly as it had come, but then Andrew has one hand on his jaw, and is drawing him in again, and Neil closes his eyes, and lets Andrew kiss him against the railing; Andrew’s mouth is soft, and gentle, and Neil frowns and grabs onto his elbows, and listens to the song, and thinks about how this is what he’d wanted.

Andrew’s hands wind around him, pulling him closer. Neil feels awkwardly clammy but weirdly safe, and the longer Andrew is kissing him the more his insides feel like a fuse slowly lighting down, from his lips to his hips and all the way down to his toes. Something sparks in him when Andrew feels around his back and slips his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, squeezing and kind of pulling his cheeks apart a little. He jolts, last night ghosting around in his nerve circuits; then he stills and breaks the kiss.

The song has long since moved on. Neil doesn’t recognise the current one, doesn’t particularly care for it. He’s breathing hard, but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, because Andrew is pressed against him and they’re pressed against the railing and there’s no space.

Andrew nuzzles along the side of his nose and squeezes his hands again.

“We should go back,” Neil murmurs. It’s barely audible above the music, but Andrew still looks at him with clear eyes like he heard every nuance in every syllable. Then he removes his hands, links one with one of Neil’s, and leads them through the clusters of people. Just before they go down the stairs he pulls Neil aside again, kisses him against the wall like they’re about to walk into the end of the world and this is his last ever taste of Neil. It leaves him dazed, and he follows meekly in Andrew’s wake.

The band wraps up after a few more songs. Some DJ that isn’t Andrew takes over and Neil is already bored, and then Seth decides he needs sustenance, so they all go to the nearest fast food place and order enough junk to feed a classroom full of starving teenagers. Andrew and Seth start throwing fries at each other across the table, trying to catch them in their mouths but hit each other in the face with them at the same time, and Neil ducks out to the bathroom for a moment to clear the fuzz from his head.

He runs his hands under cold water, watching it curl down the drain. The door opens behind him and he looks up to see Matt, looking awkwardly serious. He tries to turn off the water, but the tap is rusty and won’t budge, and then Matt reaches over and twists it shut for him, and somehow that annoys him.

“Hey,” Matt says, “listen, about-”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Neil blurts out before he can stop himself. Matt gives him a weird look.

“I know that. I just wanted to make sure that, well. You and Andrew? Really?”

Neil shrugs.

“So, what,” he says, “everyone in this god damn house can have  _ just sex _ , but when I do it, suddenly I need to be treated with kid gloves, because apparently I’m too dumb and inexperienced to tell feelings and fucking apart?”

“Dude, that’s not what I meant,” Matt says, frowning.

“Sure sounded like it, when you were telling Andrew all about how delicate and naive I am.”

Neil wants to stop talking, but his mouth just keeps spewing angry words. The resentment is bubbling over like burnt, bitter coffee and there’s nowhere else to put it but at Matt’s feet.

“You heard that, ok. Well, I was just trying to make sure he isn’t messing you around,” Matt says. “Nothing against Andrew, but he’s…”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ve heard it all by now,” Neil says bitterly. “Everyone’s got an opinion on my non-existent love life suddenly. Just because we’re housemates doesn’t mean you get to pry into my private business.”

Matt looks hurt, and Neil instantly feels bad, but he’s still so  _ angry _ .

Angry at himself for getting into this whole mess in the first place. Angry at himself for wanting more. Angry at Andrew for dangling  _ more  _ right in front of his nose and then snatching it away at the last minute every time Neil starts to forget that he can’t have it.

“Never mind,” he says, pushing past Matt on his way to the door. “Tell him all my dumb secrets, I don’t care. It’s not like it means anything. I’m just gonna go.”

He grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and tries to be casual about practically bolting for the door. Outside he fumbles with his sleeves and his phone at the same time and manages neither, breathing harsh against the slap of cold air every time a car whizzes past. No one tries to follow him. Finally he gets his phone out and calls the first person he can think of, who picks up after a few rings.

“Neil?”

“Kevin,” he says. “I need… Can I come over. Now?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's tuuuuuuesdaay. love you guys a lot, posting this is the most fun part of our week xx

When Neil’s feet finally stop outside Kevin’s a little over an hour later, it’s midnight, and Kevin answers the door with a concerned scowl on his face. He walks Neil over to the sofa where he’s meticulously placed a folded sheet and comforter, and there’s a smoky tea on the coffee table. Neil sits down, his feet sore and heavy suddenly, and pulls them up to rest on the pile of soft things. He grabs his mug of tea and inhales the scent, minty and steamy and calming. He thinks he can hear faint voices and shuffles coming from the kitchen.

Kevin sits awkwardly at the edge of an armchair. He says, “Well? What’s wrong?”

Neil frowns at him. “Maybe nothing’s wrong.”

Kevin lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’ve never once asked me for anything. What’s wrong?”

Neil hides behind his mug, sips at it and closes his eyes. He hears Kevin huff and get to his feet. When Neil opens his eyes again Kevin has returned with a pillow which he throws on top of Neil’s feet. “We’ll talk in the morning, then.”

Neil nods, and then Kevin is turning out the main light, and closing the door, and everything vanishes, the voices in the kitchen, the brightness of the room, and Neil is alone, and tired, and abruptly unhappy.

-

He doesn’t sleep well. He’d fallen asleep fully clothed, feet stacked on top of his bedsheets, only the pillow moved on top of his face when sunlight began spilling under the curtains.

He removes it now, and blinks blearily at the ceiling, and wonders where his phone is.

When he hears footsteps on the stairs, he’s shuffled around, stretched a little, and found the remote. Cartoons with the volume off are playing on the tv, and Neil is watching them, sort of.

Jeremy appears. Neil looks at him and can’t help smiling back a little. Jeremy is short, and skinny in shorts and an oversized shirt and is yawning all over the living room. “Coffee?” he offers through a yawn, one hand over his mouth. Neil nods and follows him to the kitchen. They sit at the table in companionable silence until Jean appears.

Jean says, “Good morning,” and Neil looks up at him.

Jeremy stands in one graceful move, mug going with him and says, “Uh, I’ll leave you to it,” before exiting quickly without looking at either of them.

Neil pops one foot up on the edge of his chair. “Why is Jeremy being weird?” He sips at his coffee and sighs, trying to let the bitter edge scrape out his twisty insides.

Jean is still frowning after Jeremy, but then he spots the coffee, pours himself one, and sits opposite Neil. “I don’t know. He’s been acting... He returned home yesterday, and seems…” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Neil nods. “Yeah,” as if he understands.

Jean settles into his chair and raises his eyes. “So. What happened?”

Neil stills, like the reminder of the night before is enough to immobilize him, all fight or flight instinct out the window, just like that: like he has no idea what he’s doing.

Jean presses, “Neil?” eyes all concerned, and Neil sinks into his chair.

He says, through barely parted lips, “I’m fine,” and then explains what he’d overheard.  _ Convenient _ . The way Andrew had kissed him afterwards. The argument with Matt. He frowns at his emptying coffee mug and says, “It is what it is. I shouldn’t have yelled at Matt.” And then adds again, stiffly, “I’m fine.”

Jean is quiet, contemplative, and Neil feels that same anger bubbling through him, and snaps, “You don’t have to treat me like I’m a child.” Jean raises his eyebrows, and Neil knows he hasn’t even said anything yet, but he can’t help it. “I’m not an idiot, and I know what’s happened here, and don’t – don’t –”

“Don’t what?” asks Jean, infuriatingly calm.

“Don’t – treat me like the others do.”

“How do they treat you?”

“Like I’m. Like I’m stupid.” Neil curls his fingers around the mug, squeezes it hard and sucks in a tight breath. “I know how Andrew sees me, ok? I knew all along. And I – I’m fine with that. I’m – I’m having sex with Andrew because – because I wanted to. He’s – I chose this. I want it.”

Jean nods, and waits to see if Neil says anything else. When he doesn’t, Jean places a hand flat on the table, and looks at it, and says, “I don’t think you’re stupid. I do not believe your friends do, either. They care about you, and I think the reason you’re angry is because you care about all of this more than you think you should...”

“Jean –”

“...but then, who am I to talk.” When Neil’s eyes snap up, Jean is smiling softly at him, and Neil melts a little into his chair, and nods, every muscle of his body relaxing with the knowledge that Jean knows, he gets it, and he doesn’t care, and he’s not judging him, and he’s not forcing him to say any more, and they drink their coffee in peace.

Kevin trips in a bit later, yawning several times in a row and zombie-walking towards the large, fancy espresso machine on the counter. Neil leans out of his chair to pat his side as he passes and Kevin ruffles his hair without a word.

“Nice pyjamas,” Jean remarks, eyeing Kevin’s shorts. They’re printed with cartoon aliens and little UFOs zooming around, one of which is directly located over the crotch area.

“Guess your junk really is out of this world, huh?” Neil jokes.

“Are we going to see the moon if you turn around?” Jean adds. Neil offers his fist for a fistbump, Seth-style, and Jean laughs and indulges him.

“You’re laughing, but I’ve seen both of you in way worse,” Kevin sniffs.

“Yeah, except I have no dignity and Jean naturally looks good in anything he wears, so dragging us for it won’t work. You’re much more fun to tease because you actually care how you look.”

“Fine, you leave me no choice,” Kevin shoots back, leaning against the counter and scowling into his coffee. “Dad asked after you. There’s leftovers in the freezer from Abby for you, too. I guess she thought you were coming to Thanksgiving because she definitely made enough for four. Why won’t you see them? And don’t think I’ve forgotten you showed up here in the middle of the night with no explanation-”

“Ah,” Neil says. “Can we go back to where you were going to insult my fashion choices?”

Jean clears his throat and gets up.

“I have to go to work,” he says pointedly.

“Traitor,” Neil calls after him, then knocks back the rest of his coffee and scrambles to his feet. “Shit, I also have work.”

“We’re going to talk about this at some point,” Kevin warns him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Neil says, blowing him a cheeky kiss. “Don’t get your space jammies in a twist.”

He goes to work a little lighter, though the thought of returning home later still makes his stomach churn. When lunchtime rolls around he’s half-hoping Andrew will show up with food again, but the day stays quiet, undisturbed. He keeps busy. His phone hums a few times, but it’s just Jean checking in, Dan saying sorry for missing him this morning because they usually have breakfast together on Sundays, and Allison blowing up their chat with outfit photos because she’s inexplicably nervous about going out tonight. When Neil sends  _ who are you and what have you done with my friend _ she answers, lightning-quick:  _ I invited Renee _ , followed by a cryptic string of exclamation marks and slightly disconcerting emojis.

Neil finishes his shift, heads outside, then calls her.

“Is it a date?” he asks when she picks up.

“No,” Allison says. “No, absolutely, definitely, most certainly not. Yes.”

Neil blows out a huff of laughter and hunches deeper into his jacket, peering at the hideous display of fake snow, tinsel garlands, and a miniature plastic Christmas tree with bowling ball ornaments that he had to put up in the window today.

“So it’s just going to be the two of you? Where are you taking her?”

“Well,” Allison sighs, explosively, and there’s a soft  _ fwhump  _ like she just dropped down on her bed. “We’re having dinner at some vegan hipster zero-waste place that frankly sounds revolting but I thought would impress her. And then, because I can’t be trusted around a pretty girl for longer than a few hours, we’re meeting some people at this sustainable art gallery opening downtown, and might continue on to a fancy organic wine bar at some later point if things go well.”

“Hmm,” Neil says.

“Oh god, it’s awful, isn’t it? I made all the wrong choices. Oh god.”

“No,” Neil says quickly, “just… maybe like you’re trying a bit too hard. Renee’s probably just happy to spend time with you, you know.”

“Oh,” Allison deflates. “Right. Yes. Ok. Do you think I should cancel the reservation, though?”

“It’s fine. You’ll be fine.”

Allison makes a pitiful sound.

“Will you come?”

“What, to your date?”

“No, well, yes. Not the actual date part, just the gallery and possibly bar after? I may need a wingman. And you can meet some of my friends, there’s a girl I think you’d really get along with, she’s into exy-”

“Fine,” Neil says.

“Fine?” Allison echoes.

“Yeah. I’ll come.”

“Huh,” Allison says. “I thought you’d need more convincing.”

“Am I not a pillar of emotional support, Alli?” Neil gasps. “I’m offended. You’re offending me.”

She laughs, already sounding more like herself again.

“You’re a pillar of something,” she says fondly, “but it’s not emotional support. Sorry, boo.”

“That’s alright,” Neil sniffs. “Guess I’ll stay home tonight then. You can find yourself a different emotionally supportive wingman.”

Allison launches into a spiel about how Neil is her best friend in the whole wide world and the most amazing, incredible guy ever, and Neil laughs and tells her to shut up and to text him the address of the gallery.

-

He makes a detour to Jean’s first, with bags of take-away Indian food as a slightly less awkward way of saying “thank you for letting me crash on your couch when I had a minor breakdown in the middle of the night”. Jean and Kevin aren’t home yet, but he finds Jeremy folding laundry in the living room and holds up his offerings with a questioning look.

“Is that food?” Jeremy asks hopefully, perking up.

“Yes,” Neil says. “Kevin is a wuss, but I wasn’t sure about you and Jean, so I got a mild, semi-spicy and very spicy version of each. Don’t try the very spicy unless you’re committed to it.”

“I’ll go with the semi-spicy then,” Jeremy laughs. “Thanks, man.”

Neil starts towards the kitchen, then doubles back.

“Do you think I can borrow some more clothes later? Allison invited me to this gallery opening and I have no idea what to wear.”

“Sure,” Jeremy says, peering over the back of the couch. “No trouble.”

Neil nods, then goes into the kitchen to plate up their curries. He leaves the rest for Jean and Kevin to pick over and grabs two bottles of water before joining Jeremy in the living room.

His phone buzzes as he puts the plates down on the coffee table and he glances at it while curling up in an armchair.

It’s from Andrew.  _ are you alive _

Maybe none of the others will have noticed Neil didn’t go home last night, and hasn’t been back since, but he and Andrew share a wall. And anyway, it’s Andrew.

Neil wants to slip the phone back in his pocket, but with a small sigh he types back  _ at Kevin’s, home later _ , and then turns his phone off.

Jeremy is sat cross-legged on the floor and watching Neil curiously.

Neil slides off the armchair and joins him on the floor and says, “I hate phones.”

“Why?” Jeremy picks up his plate, draws his knees up and balances it on top.

Neil says, “I don’t know,” and starts poking his food with a fork.

He’s never spent any time alone with Jeremy, he’s now realising, and they don’t have an awful lot in common. But Jeremy is kind, and asks Neil a lot of questions about his life that Neil deflects, and when Neil hits on a question about Jeremy’s family, Jeremy talks for ages about home, and growing up, and California, and Neil just settles and listens, smiling whenever Jeremy does, because it’s kind of infectious.

Neil’s leaning against the armchair, feeling full and nicely distracted, and Jeremy is leaning against the sofa, thanking Neil for the food whilst simultaneously showing him photos of his dog, Pupper, who’s still with his parents and looks to Neil like more trouble than he must be worth.

Neil asks, “So, when are Jean and Kevin getting back?”

Jeremy puts his phone away and smiles a little. “Soon, I’m sure, don’t worry. You miss him, huh?”

Neil frowns. “Not really. Wait. Which one. I definitely don’t miss Kevin.”

Jeremy laughs. “He’s a handful. Loyal guy, though. You guys are like brothers, right?”

Neil shrugs, and then nods. “I guess.”

Jeremy is scratching along the back of his hand when he says, “And Jean. I want to ask, but…”

“Ask what?”

Jeremy looks away, and then looks at Neil, and then hugs his knees. “I’m not crazy. You guys like each other, right?”

Neil frowns. “Well. Yeah.”

Jeremy nods. “Cool. Yeah. I mean, I knew that. It’s pretty obvious. I asked Jean, last week, and he said he didn’t but –”

“He said he didn’t like me?” asked Neil, confused.

“Oh,” Jeremy blanched, and scratched the back of his neck, and Neil was working hard to try and catch up. “Man that was a stupid thing to say. I’m sure he does, I think he’s just – I think he was just trying to be nice. To me. Because I – it doesn’t matter.” He straightens, and smiles at Neil. “I know he really likes you. I’m happy for you guys, really.”

Neil sits up straight, catching up in a rush. “Yeah, he does. As friends. We’re friends. Like, he’s nice to me and we tell each other things and we have some stuff in common… but that’s all.”

Jeremy looks away. “You don’t – um –”

“No,” Neil confirms, quickly, a lot of things making sense now. “No, we don’t like each other like that. He’s like completely in love with you, I promise.”

Jeremy’s eyes snap to his, and he opens his mouth, and closes it again. Something red is creeping up his neck, and Neil grins, and Jeremy looks away, sharp and flailing, one hand lifting and falling again. “I thought – well. I thought you liked him,” he says, apparently only capable of addressing one half of what Neil has said, hiding half his head in his arms and knees and raising his eyes at Neil, all uncertain.

Neil says, “Not like that. I really don’t. I like –” and stops, abruptly. He swallows, tries to blink away the thought, but the second it’s in his head it’s bouncing around, sticking to the corners everywhere he looks. His smile drops, and he looks away. “Um. Well, anyway. Jean is all yours, really.” He feels sick, and just wants to leave, and wishes he didn’t have to go out with Allison, and wishes he could stay here, and just wishes so hard it hurts.

Jeremy is unwinding his body, and saying, “Are you ok?” when the front door opens and Kevin and Jean are suddenly hurtling their huge bodies through the doorway, and taking in the food, and talking, and Jeremy is talking back, and smiling at Jean, and pulling him down to sit next to him, and Jean is looking at him, pleased and surprised, and taking in the look on Neil’s face, and scrunching his eyebrows in concern, and Neil shakes his head, and looks at Kevin, and listens to how his day’s been, and waits for it to be time to leave.

-

The gallery is fancy, but in a kind of minimal, understated way. Everyone is dressed to match the vibe, people are standing around in small groups with recycled glass flutes of ethically sourced champagne and breadsticks made from spelt and emmer and chia seeds. Neil is glad he borrowed a button-down shirt from Jeremy, though it feels a little constricting around the throat. He spots Allison at a bistro table surrounded by abstract sculptures made from old tin cans and weaves his way over, grabbing a breadstick that tastes dry and crumbly in his mouth.

“Neil!” Allison beams, leaning in to kiss the air beside his cheeks, something she does with her rich friends a lot. “Glad you came. This is Marc, Chrissy, Lorena, Laura, and Troy. And you know the lovely Renee, of course.”

Neil gives a little wave around the table. He’s already forgotten which one is Lorena and which one is Laura. Renee waves back at him, flushed and smiling, looking pretty in a pastel purple dress with Allison’s pant suit jacket draped over her shoulders.

“How was dinner?” Neil asks.

“Good,” Renee says, eyes sliding over to Allison. “If a little expensive.”

“I chose it, I paid for it, and it wasn’t even that expensive,” Allison huffs, fiddling first with her hair, then with her earrings.

Renee looks at Neil with a conspiratorial wink and whispers, “Next time I’m picking the restaurant.”

Neil notices the way Allison picks up on and relaxes at that little “next time” and gives her a thumbs-up when Renee turns away to ask one of the guys about his guerilla gardening. Allison knocks back her champagne and gently turns Neil to face Lorena or Laura.

“Chrissy is a big exy fan,” she says. “You two should geek out.”

“Um,” Neil says.

“Oh my god, yeah,” Chrissy gushes. “Do you play?”

Allison promptly abandons him to steer Renee away from the group and show her some part of the exhibition in one of the back rooms, and Neil keeps a somewhat stilted conversation going for a few minutes before Chrissy gets bored and starts talking about her boyfriend who is currently somewhere in Asia saving the rainforests. Or something. Neil crunches his way through more boring breadsticks and stares vacantly at the sculptures, only tuning back in when one of them says the dreaded, “So, Neil, what do you do?”

“Uh,” he says, “I work at a bowling alley.”

There’s a small, scrunched-up silence, then Chrissy clears her throat.

“Well, we’ve all been there, haven’t we? Sometimes you just need the work experience while you figure out where you want to direct your energy in the long run. I mean, there are just so many important causes to pick from, right?”

“Sure,” Neil says, feeling vaguely insulted.

“You know, I have a cousin who’s just getting his startup going, I’m sure if you gave them a call they’d be happy to have you on board. They won’t pay much yet, of course, but they’re like a family there, and they make their own kombucha and everything!”

“Great,” Neil says. He takes the last breadstick and gets a weird look from the guy across from him, like it’s somehow rude not to leave an offering to the fae or something.

Thankfully the conversation moves away from him again, and onto Lorena or Laura’s relationship troubles. Chrissy is telling her that she should definitely not sleep with her ex if she still has feelings for him, Troy is talking about some juice cleanse he did after his last relationship went down the drain, and Neil kind of wants to text Andrew and tell him about how batshit insane these people are, but. He needs to stop relying on Andrew so much, so he doesn’t.

If Andrew were here, he and Neil could shoot each other looks across the table every time someone said the words “moral obligation” or “fundamentally problematic”. Seth would come up with comparisons for what the sculptures remind him of, most of which would be sexual in nature, and Neil and Dan would loudly talk about how excessive wealth and sustainability are mutually exclusive and any attempt at proving otherwise is just sanctimonious, self-congratulatory make-believe. Neil would try to make Matt crack up with increasingly silly faces, and they’d have a breadstick fight and Neil would use underhanded tactics to win. 

But they aren’t here, and Neil is still angry at them. Kind of. A bit.

He just wants to go home.

When a sufficient amount of time has slipped by without Allison or Renee returning, Neil texts Allison to let her know he’s heading home and walks away from the table without so much as a goodbye. The conversation barely falters, and then he’s out the door, gulping down air and wondering if he should splurge on a taxi or walk the forty-five minutes home.

He walks home slowly, so slowly it’s nearer an hour by the time he gets there, and he hovers outside the door, dressed in Jeremy’s clothes and some of his stuff still at Kevin’s, phone quiet and unmoving in his pocket and an unpleasant feeling of dread in his stomach. He closes his eyes, already tired, and pushes open the door.

Seth is in the living room, and offers a, “Hey man,” to which Neil nods and walks past before he can see who else is around. In the kitchen he opens the fridge, takes out a bottle of water and hops up onto the counter, tucking one foot under his knee and bouncing the other against the cupboard below.

He thinks about Allison’s pretentious friends, and how she really didn’t need him after all, and the silence after he’d told them about the bowling alley, and feeling embarrassed, and untethered, and how much he’d wanted Andrew there, and feeling completely and entirely unwanted, all over his skin, to everyone, all at once.

Andrew appears in the doorway a little while later, when Neil’s bottle is almost empty and he hasn’t moved a muscle. Andrew folds his arms and leans against the wall and says, “Glad to see you’re alive.”

Neil looks at him. “I texted you.”

Andrew raises his eyebrows and clucks his tongue and says, low and drawled out, “I got it. Thanks.”

Neil stares at him, decides to be the one to watch Andrew for once, to analyse, to try to see in him only what Andrew sees in Neil, thinks about what Jean gets to have and pushes it away and himself off the counter and is in front of Andrew in seconds, hands fisting at his sides and saying, “Yes or no?”

Andrew frowns at him, but he’s uncrossing his arms, and saying, “Yes,” perhaps as desperate for this as Neil is. So Neil kisses him. Tucks his fingers into Andrew’s hair and holds on tight and kisses him.

Andrew’s hands are solid, unwavering, over his shoulders, down his back, but his lips are hesitant, and he pulls away to say, “Not here.”

Neil whispers, “Here,” and tries to keep kissing him, but then there’s footsteps and Andrew pushes him away gently and Seth is appearing in the doorway, eyes averted, hands fumbling like he’s looking for something.

Neil doesn’t care. He takes Andrew’s hand and walks them out of the kitchen, and up the stairs, and into his own bedroom, thinking for once that if Andrew doesn’t like the state of his room, his life, he can fucking well leave, and he takes Andrew over to the bed with the grey sheets and the stupid kid’s toy and his pathetic box with the condoms on top, and pulls him on top of him, and asks for so much, into his mouth, arching his back the way he thinks Andrew likes, asking and asking to just take this from him.

Andrew’s hands are unsteady, dancing over his body like he’s unfocused, speaking Neil’s name into his mouth, Neil answering by pushing back twice as hard, whispering  _ yes _ and refusing to hear his name, to even think Andrew’s, to let anything leave his lips but consent, but the fact that he’s present, here, wanting this, and nothing more.

Andrew fumbles a hand into Neil’s jeans, and Neil lifts up and lets him, lets Andrew kiss his neck and say, “Neil… I…” and Neil unzips Andrew hurriedly, takes him out, just wants this to be over.

Andrew takes his own hand back, screws his face up at the feeling of Neil’s hand over him, and then says, “Wait,” and takes his phone out. Neil removes his hand hesitantly. Andrew moves his fingers over his phone and a second later something starts playing on it. Something acoustic and beautiful, intensely familiar. Aching. Painful.

Andrew moves back over Neil’s body and Neil is pushing him off in the same second, getting to his feet and feeling like he’s going to throw up.

“No,” says Neil, and Andrew freezes where he’s been left on the bed. There’s nothing in the room but silence, but Andrew in his bed, slowing zipping himself back up and moving to sit on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, visible and calm, too fucking calm, and Neil finding himself standing against the far wall.

“Ok,” says Andrew, still and looking at him. “It’s ok, Neil.”

Neil’s jaw is tight and he doesn’t want to say anything, just wants Andrew to leave; and, after a minute, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh neil. :'(


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments are all amazing by the way, thank you so much for reading this even though we know it's been a loooong journey. :'(  
> xxx

Neil doesn’t want to get up the next morning.

He doesn’t have to. It’s Monday, and if he concentrates he can hear the faint sounds of some of the others getting ready for work, but he’s not on shift today. Not that it would matter if he was, thinking about how irrelevant his job is, how apparently pointless it is.

He just lies there, with this heavy feeling pressing down on him, watching the dust motes spin, breathing in the spent air. Faintly, there are the sounds of other people going about their lives around him; the gurgle of the shower next door when Andrew gets up, the distant whirr of the coffee machine downstairs, someone talking in the staircase, the sound of the front door closing.

He wonders if Andrew is going to make breakfast today.

If they’re all going to eat together, regardless of Neil being there. He feels small and irrelevant, stranded and useless. Maybe he should look for a different job. Maybe he should get proper furniture, paint his walls in a quirky, yet tasteful colour that matches the rest of the room.

Maybe he should move out.

He swallows thickly. The bathroom door opens and closes, and he squeezes his eyes shut, listening to Andrew’s steps as they fade down the stairs. Then he drags himself out of bed and into the shower, which is still wet and steamy from its previous occupant, the scent of Andrew’s shampoo amplified in the small room.

The water is just this side of too hot, but Neil leaves it. His heart throbs and his skin prickles with confused goosebumps, and he feels flushed and sore by the time he gets out. He towels off, puts some clothes on, briefly regrets not going running, but he’s just. So tired.

He goes back to bed, and finds his phone, and works out how to turn it off, and spends a few hours zoning in and out of sleep.

When Neil finally makes it downstairs, it’s because he can’t put off food any longer, and Matt and Andrew are in the living room not talking to each other, and both look up at Neil’s footsteps. Neil is in the kitchen when there’s a knock on the front door, and then Aaron’s voice comes filtering through the hallway, and Neil doesn’t care. Doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, but he knows he needs to eat something, so he puts on some pasta and watches it boil.

Someone comes into the kitchen behind him, because he can hear footsteps, and then there’s silence, and Neil wonders if it’s Andrew, but neither of them speak, or move – and then he hears two sets of steps, and the front door shutting behind them.

Neil is getting cheese out when Matt wanders in. “Uh, hey man.”

“Hi,” says Neil to his pasta, grating cheese over it with great concentration.

“Can we talk?”

“It’s fine.” Neil puts the cheese away and sort of just looks at the fridge for a moment. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“That’s – that’s ok. I get it, honestly.”

Neil’s eyes feel hot, and he blinks, and grabs his bowl and stabs a fork into it. “It’s fine,” he says again, leaving the kitchen without looking at Matt and staying in his room for the rest of the night.

**-**

The next day he has a shift, and goes for a run afterwards, and showers, and when he comes out of the bathroom he tells himself he’s feeling ok, and that he just needs – something. He’ll figure it out. He straightens Bunny, flattens a hand over his shirt, feeling a little anxious about seeing everyone after – well, after nothing. Nothing has happened. So it’s fine. He’s fine.

He starts to go downstairs, following the scent of something spicy and voices emanating from the kitchen, but somehow can’t bring himself to cross the last steps. Instead he slides down, wraps his arms around his knees and rests his head on them for a moment, just listening to the warm hum of voices.

“...never thought they’d really break up, though,” Dan is saying. She sounds concerned.

“Everyone has fights,” Renee replies levelly. “I’m sure they’ll work it out.”

“Yeah, but it’s serious this time, isn’t it? I mean, Katelyn practically threw him out.”

Neil’s neck prickles. If they’re talking about Katelyn, they’re probably talking about Aaron and Katelyn, which means…

“I don’t get it, they seemed fine at Thanksgiving,” Seth says.

It goes quiet for a bit, like maybe Dan is giving Seth a look that says he’s oblivious, or maybe Andrew is humming in denial, or confirmation, and Neil lifts his head and stares at the wall, like he’ll be able to see through it, like seeing the conversation would somehow calm the growing nausea in his stomach.

“Aaron is an idiot,” Andrew eventually says.

“Yeah, but he’s our idiot,” Dan replies. “He’s gonna need a place to stay.”

Neil stands up abruptly. Somehow he doesn’t want to hear the rest of that conversation. The conversation that is going to be about how Aaron, who was friends with all of these people first, who is Andrew’s  _ family _ , will want his old room back. The room which currently houses Neil and his grand total of five possessions. The room that he never even bothered to make a home.

He tiptoes up the stairs as fast as he can, nearly tripping on his socks in his haste. They’re probably trying to think of a way to politely ask Neil to leave. The least he can do is spare them the trouble, he thinks, a little vindictively, as he starts shoving things into his duffel bag. He can’t take the bed, of course, and he won’t need the condoms or the books. He leaves the bunny, too. Then walks back and stuffs it into his bag after all, before sweeping one last look over the emptied space.

His heart is racing and it’s almost painful. His chest feels too tight to draw breath. He grips his overstuffed duffel bag and takes out his key ring and stares down at it, trying to decide what to do with it.

In the end he takes it, simply because leaving the keys on his abandoned bed seems overly dramatic. By some minor miracle he makes it past the kitchen without being seen, only hears a few more snatches of conversation whose context he can’t place, and pulls the door shut quietly behind him.

-

It’s late in the evening when Neil rings the doorbell. It echoes through the house and he waits, head bowed and nose running and knees quaking from being out in the cold for so long. Then there’s footsteps and a cough, the silhouette of a man against the frosted glass.

The door opens. Silence hangs suspended between them. Neil wipes his nose on his sleeve and clears his throat, and the man steps aside to let him in.

“Wondered when you were going to show up,” Wymack says gruffly.

“Yeah,” Neil says, in lieu of  _ sorry _ .

“Your lips are blue, son. How long have you been out there?”

Neil tries not to recoil at the word  _ son _ , tries to stamp it out before it can hurt him. He’s not Wymack’s son – that’s Kevin now, after all – and he hasn’t been here in so long he can’t even remember if the carpet always had that coffee stain or if the dining table had always been against that wall.

“Right then,” says Wymack, taking Neil through to the living room and waiting while Neil dumps his bag at his feet. Wymack eyes the bag, and then Neil, and says, “You want - anything?” Neil doesn’t say anything so Wymack scratches his head and adds, “Abby still gets that cocoa in.”

Neil shrugs, still not quite managing to meet Wymack’s eyes for more than a second, and follows him through to the kitchen. “Where is she?”

“Book club,” Wymack says. “Or uh, no, kick boxing. Hell, I’m not sure.” He opens the cupboard and takes out a tin of cocoa. He boils water in a pan and Neil slides into a seat and a few minutes later a steaming mug is placed in front of him. The hot chocolate is made with boiled water, not milk, but with a dash of cream in the top. It’s probably the dark, spiced blend, he thinks. Like Abby buys. Like Wymack makes it. Like Neil likes.

Neil cradles the mug in his hands like something precious, and as Wymack sits down opposite him, says, “How’s PSU?”

Wymack huffs. “Same as last year.” Neil lifts his mug to take a tentative, bruising-hot sip, and flicks a look up at Wymack, so he talks for a while, telling Neil a story about the newest kid on the track team, some scrawny 18 year old from nowhere who didn’t want to do anything but run and who Wymack apparently has to pick a major for because she has anxiety and Wymack’s trying to bully an older member of the team into bullying her into therapy.

“Your usual then,” Neil says, smiling down at the table, one hand still cradling his mug.

“I guess,” Wymack acquiesces, though he sounds irritated about it. They’re quiet for a moment. Wymack is scrutinising him. “Kevin tells me you’re living with layabouts.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “They all have jobs. They’re not layabouts. Kevin knows them.”

Wymack drums his fingers on the table. “Right. And a job?”

“Um, the bowling alley,” Neil says, fidgeting with the table, and his drink, and taking another sip.

Wymack nods his approval and stills his fingers. “I haven’t heard from you in months.”

Neil knew it was coming, knows he deserves whatever comes after it, and blinks at his mug. “Yeah.”

Wymack is quiet some more, and then says, “You staying?”

“Is um, is that ok? I can – I mean, not forever or anything.”

Wymack nods, softening into his chair, chest falling gently as he says, “Of course it is.”

Neil feels awful, and looks away, and finishes his drink. “Thank you,” he says abruptly, into the warm comfort of Wymack’s kitchen.

When he looks back Wymack holds his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, son. You always have a place here. I told you that.”

Neil nods, dismissive. “Yeah.” He wishes he hadn’t come.

“Seems you forgot.”

Neil’s eyes feel hot again, and he frowns, annoyed at himself for coming here, annoyed at Wymack for pushing, for pretending he’s anything other than a burden. “I won’t stay for long,” he repeats, trying to get a hold of his emotions, blinking rapidly at the table.

Wymack leans forward on his elbows, hands appearing in Neil’s vision. “You can stay as long as you need,” he says quietly. “I never went anywhere, Neil.”

Tears gather at the edges of Neil’s vision, and he sucks in a tight breath, and he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to feel any of this. He’s crying, and pretending he isn’t, hot tears spilling over his eyelashes even as he sits tightly wound and frowning and trying to stop, as Wymack stands from his chair and moves around to his side, and leans down, and wraps him into a hug.

Neil tenses at the contact, and then melts into it, crying silently, just gripping Wymack’s arm and squeezing his eyes shut, willing it to be over. Neil says, through clenched teeth, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Wymack sighs, the sound pained and broken, right by his ear, and then says, “This is where you come, kid. This will always be a home for you.” Neil draws his knees up and holds onto Wymack and tries to steady his breathing, even though he’s crying properly now, all shuddered breaths and not enough space between, and even though he feels guilty and awful and horrible, he realises he just needs to ride it out, and maybe Wymack does too, because he removes himself to grab a chair, and then is back sitting next to Neil, holding him to his chest, solid and heavy and unmoving.

When he’s taken a few steady breaths in a row, and the room is quiet, and still, and has a little more oxygen in it, Wymack gets up to make them some more hot chocolate while Neil toddles off to the bathroom to wash his face and gather up what’s left of his dignity. Then Wymack sets him up in front of the TV with an old exy game of Kevin’s that he videotaped (because of course Wymack still has that ancient VCR that he’s always had), and Neil wraps himself in a blanket until only the top of his face is visible. When Abby gets home Wymack talks to her in the kitchen and Neil can’t hear what they say but she comes out and hugs him for a long time and then asks him what he wants for dinner.

Neil’s heart is heavy, but he’s too exhausted from crying to fight against it, so he mutters something vaguely hopeful about Abby’s cheesy mashed potatoes and sinks deeper into his blanket. She kisses the top of his head through the wool, like she did the last time he saw her, and Neil kind of wants to cry all over again. Would do, if he wasn’t all cried out.

She makes her cheesy potatoes, along with some fish fingers and a salad that Neil tries to ignore but ends up eating anyway. He jumps up to do the dishes before anyone else can, and then falls asleep in the guest room, which used to be his room, and sleeps a full twelve hours.

When he wakes up, he feels disoriented and sluggish, but mostly just vaguely embarrassed.

Wymack and Abby are both at work, but there’s a note on the kitchen table directing him to breakfast. He gulps down some water and goes for a run first, then takes a shower, reheats his breakfast, and plays with his phone while he eats. He can’t bring himself to turn it on yet, but he takes it to work with him for his afternoon shift just in case he changes his mind later.

He doesn’t change his mind later.

After work he goes back to Wymack’s, helps Abby cook dinner, does the dishes despite her protests. They watch a game show together, competing over who can guess the right answer even though they all suck at it, and then Neil goes to bed and stares at the ceiling and can’t sleep.

He does doze off in the wee hours of the morning, but he feels like shit when the old alarm clock on the bedside table starts beeping and he has to drag himself out of bed. Ten minutes pass and he’s still lying down, then twenty. Half an hour after he’s meant to get up there’s a knock on his door and Abby carefully peers inside with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“Morning,” she whispers. “You ok?”

“Fine,” Neil croaks, but he still doesn’t get up.

She comes in and puts the coffee on the bedside table, then sits down and smooths her hand over his forehead.

“You feel a bit warm,” she remarks, frowning.

“I’m fine,” Neil insists. “Just…”

He swallows.

“If you don’t feel well, you should call in sick,” Abby says. “Forcing yourself to go in will only make it worse.”

Neil swallows again. He wouldn’t usually take a sick day over nothing, but the thought of getting out of bed is inexplicably hard today, and he still hasn’t turned on his phone. At this point he’s not even sure what he’s afraid of – having missed messages from the others asking where he is, or having no missed messages from the others asking where he is.

Both, maybe.

“Yeah,” he says in the end.

Abby nods and squeezes his shoulder and gets up.

“Call me if you need anything,” she says. “I’ll bring you some water.”

“Wait,” he calls just before she leaves. “Can I… I think my phone’s dead. Can I use yours?”

“I’ll bring a charger,” she says, and Neil’s stomach contracts.

He kind of wants to ask her not to, but she’s already gone, and he pulls the blanket over his head and breathes and tries to ignore the rush of blood in his ears and the insistent beating of his heart in his chest.

He pops out when he hears her steps, gulping down air. Manages to sit up at least and take a sip of his coffee and look semi-functional when she comes back in with a water bottle, a glass of orange juice, and an array of chargers.

“Thanks,” he says weakly.

“Sure thing,” she smiles, ruffling his hair. It makes him feel like a teenager, and he squirms. “Feel better. I’ll check in at lunch, ok?”

“Kay,” he mutters, watching her close the door behind her.

He waits until he can hear the front door close, until quiet settles and starts to hum insistently around him. If he doesn’t make the call soon, he’ll definitely be late. He looks at his phone, which is charging merrily. Puts his cup down. Kneads the edge of his blanket.

Powers up his phone.

He brings up his work contact as quickly as possible and holds it to his ear, heart beating as he waits for someone to pick up. He tells someone he doesn’t even recognise the name of that he’s sick and not coming in, and they’re uncaring and dismissive and say they’ll let someone know. He hangs up, and leans back against his pillows, and looks at his screen. Aside from the countless missed calls, he has a series of messages received over the last three days.

Andrew:    
_ hey _ _   
_ _ are you ignoring me _   
_ come watch robot movies. we don’t have to do anything else. _ _   
_ _ you underestimate my love for these robot movies, neil _ _   
_ _ fine, can i come to your room? _ _   
_ _ where are you _ _   
_ _ are you ok _ _   
_ _ neil? _

Matt:   
_ hey bud we’re uh kinda wondering where you are _ _   
_ _ Andrew said you weren’t in your room last night _ _   
_ _ just let me know if you’re ok, ok? _

Andrew:   
_ neil _

Allison:   
_ honey are you ok? _ _   
_ _ why aren’t you answering your phone _ _   
_ _ I mean, standard _ _   
_ _ but maybe if you’re gonna not let anyone know where you went you could at least turn your phone on?? _

Andrew:   
_ answer your fucking phone _

Seth:   
_ ok so you got people freaking out here, man _ _   
_ _ you took your stuff??? _ _   
_ _ WHAT’S GOING ON _ _   
_ _ CAN I HELP _

Matt:   
_ I’m sorry ok, please answer your phone? _

Jean:   
_ Hello Neil, call me back? I have received a threatening phone call from your andrew wondering if I know where you are. Let me know if you need anything? _

Andrew:   
_ neil i swear to god where the fuck are you _

Neil just stares at his phone, reads and rereads the messages and sinks back down below the covers, coffee forgotten and words and the pounding of his heart reverberating around his brain. He brings up the chat with Andrew, and lets his fingers hover over the screen. But he has no idea what to say. He’s a coward, and he ran away, and anyway he doesn’t think they want him anymore, Andrew certainly won’t after this, so instead he turns his phone back off and pulls the blankets back over his head.

He thinks he sleeps, but it’s disturbed, too many dreams of Andrew and home and Aaron’s face dancing behind his eyelids, but Abby is knocking on his door again, and bringing in a plate of food, and trying to encourage him to get up. She’s driven back from PSU in her lunch break just to make sure he eats, and the act of kindness makes him feel awful enough that he sits up a little, and remembers to thank her.

Neil eats his food while staring at the ceiling and trying not to hiccup from the effort, showers, then grabs his blanket and, after hesitating, Bunny, and heads downstairs to huddle on the sofa. Everything feels hazy, and if he thinks too hard about anything he feels sick, so instead he finds a movie about an archaeologist who is also some sort of action man that he remembers watching with Wymack, and sticks it in the VHS player, and zones out.

When Wymack and Abby get home later that afternoon, joining him for the end of the second movie before wandering off, it occurs to Neil to check his phone again. Some more messages, missed calls. He has a voicemail, from Matt, so he listens, holds it cautiously an inch away from his ear.

_ “You didn’t turn up at your shift, but they said you called in sick so at least we know you’re alive. We’re worried about you, can you just message or something? Ok man. I’m sorry if – I dunno. Oh, gotta go” _

Neil pulls his phone away from his ear, and looks at it, and then pulls up Andrew’s messages, even though he’s sent no new ones, and reads them over and over again.

Wymack comes back with two hot chocolates, and says, “Everything alright?”

Neil nods, puts his phone down on the sofa.

“You need to be seeing anyone?”

Neil shakes his head.

“Do uh, your friends know you’re here?”

Neil looks away.

Wymack sighs, and sinks into his armchair. He’s quiet, which Neil appreciates, everything else rushing around him like a headache, and after a while they chat gently about the movie – Neil’s onto the third one now – and Neil remembers this from years ago, when Wymack first brought him home, when he had no idea what to do with him, had found some movies and stuck them on and struck up an awkward conversation about it. It’s not awkward now, except for the constant sick feeling in Neil’s stomach, that on-edgeness that makes him want to cry again.

He just has no idea what he’s doing.

There’s a knock at the door sometime later, and Wymack yells to Abby that he’ll get it, stands at the same time, and Neil burrows deeper into his blanket.

He hears voices at the door. Wymack says, “Hi,” and then there’s something muffled, and Neil looks round curiously the moment Kevin appears in the doorway, a stern exasperated sort of look on his face, Andrew stepping out from behind him, heavy jacket on and hands in his pockets and an expression Neil, for once, can’t read.

Neil deflates. “Oh. Hey.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (before posting)  
> hedy: oh god what if they hate it  
> moonix: don't be silly it's fucking brilliant is what it is how can they hate it  
> (after posting)  
> hedy: wow look at all these comments! people must really like it!  
> moonix: oh god what if they hate it

They’re all three of them silent for a long moment. Kevin looks at Andrew, Andrew looks at Neil, and Neil looks down at Bunny’s soft ears that he’s been kneading instead of his still missing squeezy ball. They’re starting to look a little bedraggled and worse for wear.

Kevin makes a frustrated noise.

“Is it really too much to ask that you answer your phone or reply to a text every once in a while?”

Neil shrugs, still looking down at his hands.

“You had everyone worried about you,” Kevin goes on. “Jean was really upset.”

“How can you tell?” Neil jokes, feebly. “He always has the same slightly unimpressed face.”

“Can you be mature for once in your life?” Kevin snaps. “Your actions have consequences in the real world, you know. Andrew took the day off work to look for you.”

“Kevin,” Andrew says calmly, though it sounds anything but.

“What? He needs to know that he can’t just up and disappear without a word any time he likes anymore. There are people who actually give a shit now –”

“Kevin,” Andrew repeats. “Why don’t you make yourself useful for once in your life and skedaddle.”

“Skedaddle?” Kevin echoes, disbelieving.

“Yes,” Andrew says, more firmly now, and waggles his fingers. “Skedaddle.”

He keeps shooing him until Kevin throws up his arms in defeat and stomps off to join his dad in the kitchen. Neil drops his gaze back down to his stupid stuffed animal and tries to swallow down a fresh surge of discomfort in his throat. In the kitchen, the coffee grinder cuts on. Then, suddenly, there’s a dip in the sofa as Andrew settles his weight on it, and he looks momentarily so surprised at how far he sinks into it that Neil almost laughs.

Almost.

“Wymack rescued this piece of crap from a dump,” he says quietly, giving it a fond pat. “It’s awful.”

“If I never manage to get out of it again, tell my family – actually, never mind. They’re ungrateful little shits.”

The levity fizzles out.

“How’s, um, Aaron?” Neil asks.

Andrew looks at him with that heavy, blanketing-velvet gaze that makes Neil feel a confusing mix of safe and vulnerable.

“He is fine,” Andrew says. “He ate two bags of Doritos, moped pathetically on our couch for a night, then did an even more pathetic, Dorito-covered walk of shame and wailed at Katelyn until she let him back in. Or so I imagine. In any case, they’re back to grossly lovey-dovey heteronormative bliss.”

“Really?” Neil asks, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Yes. Really.”

“Oh.”

He feels even dumber about not replying to anyone’s messages now. There must be some not-too-vague-yet-not-too-specific excuse that he can fall back on to explain his shitty behaviour without exposing what a grade A mess he is, or, worse, talk about any actual feelings, but his brain is filled with a staticky buzzing sound and not much else.

He kind of wants to lean sideways until he crosses the stiff peak of the cushion separating him from Andrew, and topple down into the chasm Andrew’s body has created on the other side to hide his face against his chest.

What he does instead is blurt out, “Nice jacket.”

“Is that why you ran away?” Andrew asks.

“Your jacket?” Neil jokes. “Yes. I was jealous because I don’t have a nice jacket like yours and I just couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“Aaron,” Andrew clarifies, steering easily past the nonsense spewing from Neil’s mouth.

“I didn’t run away,” Neil tries to argue, belatedly. “Maybe I just wanted to visit my d- my... friend’s dad, my old running coach.”

Andrew gives him an unimpressed look, and waits him out. Neil looks away, belatedly remembers he’s holding his bunny and considers not holding it anymore. But then Andrew gave him the thing, so.

“I thought – I thought Aaron would need his room back,” he says neutrally, smoothing some stuck-up fur back down.

Andrew says, “Did you.”

“I heard you all talking, and I thought – I mean, the only reason I even live there is because he moved out.” He keeps waiting for Andrew to jump in, to make this easier, but Andrew is being oddly quiet, and still, and Neil wonders if he’s angry at him, for being a nuisance, for making people look for him. He sighs. He hadn’t meant to. “I just wanted to make it easier.”

“Easier on who,” Andrew says, short and sharp. “You?”

Neil looks at him, and frowns. “Um.” So, Andrew is definitely angry.

He says, in a flat monotone, “Kevin says you’ve done this before. That you run when you get scared. Is that right?”

Neil looks away. “No.”

“Listen to me. You live in that house because you are Matt’s friend, and Matt told us you were a sure thing, and now you are a  _ part _ of that house.” Neil burrows a little deeper into the sofa and listens to Andrew’s voice, letting it tether him to something, wanting desperately to believe in him. “What the fuck made you think we would kick you out?”

“I thought –”

“You thought that I would choose my brother over you?”

Neil sits up a little straighter, and looks at Andrew, and says, “Well. Yeah. Of course.”

Andrew’s gritting his teeth, and staring at Neil like he doesn’t know whether to hit him or not. Andrew doesn’t seem like a violent person. “You’re an idiot.”

Neil turns his body a little to face him. “Don’t call me that.”

“A moron, then.”

“Why –”

“We’re –” The word has clearly left Andrew’s lips before he’s decided what to do with it. He purses his lips together then says, “– friends.”

Neil nods. He’s nodding, like he agrees, but mostly he’s nodding because it gives him something to do. “Right.”

“They need you. Seth has latched onto you like a koala bear, Matt calls you his baby brother, Dan looks at you like you’re the cutest thing she’s ever seen, and Renee never shuts up about you.”

“Right,” Neil says again, knowing the words are meant to boost him, just feeling himself sink lower and lower. “Right.”

“So?”

“So what.”

“Are you coming back.”

Neil hums, plays with the ears on his bunny some more, then says, “Would it change anything?”

Andrew lifts a knee into the sofa, and turns, one arm going over the back. “Change what?”

Neil shrugs. “Us, I guess.” There’s silence, and he strokes along the bunny’s ear, pulling it taut and then letting it loose, and says, “If I stayed here, I mean. It wouldn’t be as convenient.”

The word is out of his mouth before he can take it back, and though it’s not said with any bitterness he knows with a sickening certainty that Andrew will know what he overheard.

Andrew is quiet, and Neil stays still except for the movement of his hand, and he listens to murmured voices in the kitchen, and almost zones out entirely so that he’s a little startled when Andrew finally says, “I don’t know.” And then, “Would you want it to?”

“I don’t know. No.” Neil does know. He does. He knows he wants things he can’t have, and he doesn’t know how far to go with the things he can have, and Andrew is so near to him and all he wants to do is kiss him, but his stomach is in knots and he can’t say any of the things he wants to, and it’s so infuriating –

“Then nothing would change.”

Neil nods.

Andrew places a hand on his shoulder, and Neil looks at it, and then at him, and for the first time sees something like concern in Andrew’s eyes. Something like frustration. Andrew says, “Neil. Can I kiss you?”

And Neil melts at the words, and turns properly, knees on the sofa and hands fisting in the sides of Andrew’s jacket, and lets himself be kissed, Andrew’s hands in his hair, and licking into his mouth, and almost growling, “Don’t do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Neil whispers, and lets himself be kissed, and kisses Andrew back, and feels Andrew’s arms gathering around him, and feels like he’s home again somehow, and wonders if this is how other friends feel about each other.

Someone clears their throat pointedly and Neil starts to draw back but Andrew follows him for a moment, their lips skidding against each other.

“Abby wants to know if you’re staying for dinner,” Wymack says, and Neil drops his head to hide against Andrew’s chest because,  _ god _ . He did not mean to make out on Wymack’s couch like a horny teenager.

Andrew taps his shoulder. Neil looks up and catches the full force of his gaze and has to swallow, and breathe.

“Are we?” Andrew asks.

“Um,” Neil says.

“Are you done sucking face?” Kevin asks, popping round the doorframe. “Oh, good. I don’t know about you, but Abby’s making cottage pie. I’m definitely staying.”

Neil mumbles something about infringing on Abby and Wymack’s hospitality long enough and hurries upstairs to gather his things, leaving Andrew to be heavily scrutinised by Wymack. He tries not to be horrified by the concept, shoves everything into his bag as quickly as he can, and runs back downstairs to deliver a weird, stilted thank-you-sorry-thanks-um-yeah to Abby while stealing a carrot from her chopping board.

“Rabbit,” Andrew murmurs, brushing past him on his way outside. Neil hesitates, then backtracks into the living room and suddenly doesn’t know what to say.

“I expect you to show your face around here for Christmas at some point,” Wymack tells him gruffly. “None of your usual disappearing act. Got me?”

“Yes,” Neil says, fidgeting, “yeah. I. Sorry. Thanks.”

Wymack ruffles his hair and then gives him a push.

“Get out of here, your boy’s waiting.”

“He’s not my boy,” Neil tries to protest, tries to stop the warmth from spreading, but there’s still a bit of a dopey grin on his face when he closes the door behind him and skips down the stairs to Andrew’s car.

“Home?” Andrew checks.

“Home,” Neil agrees.

-

Either Kevin or Andrew has texted ahead, because when they arrive, the others are all waiting. There’s dinner on the table, still untouched, and something lowkey is playing that Neil doesn’t recognise. Dan swoops him into a bone-crushing hug and Neil half-heartedly squeezes her back, then gets handed over to Seth for an even bone-crushing-er hug that lifts him clean off his feet.

“Sorry,” Neil wheezes when he’s released into Renee’s gentle arm pat, because he’s been saying that so much today a few more times won’t hurt.

“Can’t believe you thought we were kicking you out,” Dan says, cuffing him around the head then trying to ruffle his hair. This time Neil is prepared and leans out of reach, though he just ends up falling right into Seth’s shoulder punch.

“Ass,” is all Seth says, before wandering off to serve himself lasagna. Neil knows him well enough by now to parse the insult as an expression of caring and turns to Dan.

“Is, uh, Matt?”

“In the kitchen,” Dan says. She nods toward the door and then ushers Andrew and Renee into the living room with a meaningful glance over her shoulder.

Right.

Neil takes a deep breath and feels weirdly like knocking, even though he lives here again now and it’s his kitchen just as much as anyone else’s. Matt is standing by the counter, tossing a salad, though he has the look of someone feigning concentration in order to avoid an unpleasant confrontation.

“Aw, you made a salad for me,” Neil says, aiming for casual and falling somewhere to the left of it. “You didn’t have to. By which I mean you really didn’t have to, because I won’t eat it.”

Matt cracks a smirk on the side of his face that Neil can see, and says, “I’m putting some on your plate anyway.”

And then it’s quiet, and Neil fiddles his hands into his pockets and out again and says, “Matt.”

Matt sighs and turns, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter, not looking him in the eye. “I’m – sorry,” he says, sounding hurt and upset and not anything like as angry as Neil thought he would be.

“What?” Neil says, taken aback.

“It’s none of my business,” Matt says quickly, scuffing his socked foot on the kitchen tile, “what you do, you’re right, I’m just your housemate, and I had no right to talk to Andrew, and I’m sorry you thought –”

“ _ Matt _ ,” interrupts Neil, appalled. Matt looks at him with wary eyes. “No,” Neil says firmly. “Are you forgetting the part where I was kind of a dick to you?”

Matt shrugs, as if this is inconsequential, and Neil says, “I’m sorry. You’re not just my housemate. You’re one of my oldest friends – fuck it, probably my _first_ friend – and I know you were just worried about me. I mean, you don’t need to be, but I get it. You were looking out for me.”

Matt looks like he might cry, so Neil frowns at him and hurries over for a hug before things can get too emotional. Matt scrunches him up, and Neil leans into it on tiptoes, and wraps his arms around Matt’s shoulders, and says again, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too, man,” Matt says, muffled, before releasing him and beaming sort of wetly at him. Neil shoves him away, and Matt shoves him back, and turns to keep fixing the salad.

Neil leans against the counter next to him, and they just stay like that for a minute, before Matt says, quietly, “Things are ok then? With Andrew?”

He looks at Neil, who looks away. “Um.”

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me,” Matt says, looking cautious, chopping cucumber into very small pieces. “Just, if you wanted to.”

“Yeah,” Neil says. “Well. You know, we’re just. It’s just sex.”

“Right,” Matt says quickly, like he’s eager to agree, but just as quickly, as if he can’t help himself, he adds, “It just doesn’t – is it like that for both of you?”

“Yes,” says Neil, before he’s really thought it through. “I mean –” he stops himself and crosses his arms and glares at his feet, hating himself a little.

Matt breathes in, and out, and puts one hand on Neil’s shoulder, and even quieter says, “As long as you’re happy, man. But, you know, it seems like it’s maybe not just that for him either. You should have seen him these last few days.”

Neil shakes his head. “He said it. We’re just friends. And I get it. I wouldn’t want more than that with me, either.”

Matt sighs, and pulls him in for another hug, this time one where Neil doesn’t have to move, just finds his head turning into Matt’s chest, breathing in the comforting smell of his friend. “You’re a dumbass,” Matt says, sounding fond, tucking his chin on top of Neil’s head. “And you’ve always given more than you think you do. But if you want more, or you’re not happy, you should tell him.”

Neil shrugs inside the hug, doesn’t really want to think about this anymore. Andrew came and got him, with Kevin, presumably demanded to tag along, but he also called them friends, convenient, someone he was using. Neil doesn’t know what he should do, whether he needs to change anything.

“Thanks, Matt,” he says anyway, because he thinks Matt’s right either way, that Neil needs to decide what he needs, and do something about it.

Probably what he needs is just to end things.

He’s become too involved – Andrew morphing into this thing he can’t stop thinking about, a beacon he can’t look away from in every room, his jokes and his music and his attention making Neil’s toes curl and heart beat in anticipation for the next time it happens. The way he looks at Neil in bed, like he’s seeing something new for the first time, every time… So yeah. Probably what he needs to do is just end things. He never used to care about sex, anyway. What would it change, really?

-

His resolve lasts until he goes to bed, and lies in the dark facing the wall between his room and Andrew’s, and strains his ears for the nonexistent sound of Andrew’s heartbeat next door. He puts his hand against the wall and imagines Andrew doing the same on his side. Imagines Andrew coming over and slipping into his bed and curling himself around Neil, his weight pressing him down down down into the mattress. Imagines Andrew undressing him. Andrew’s cool hands on his hot skin. He slides both hands into his boxers and breathes loud and fast, hoping Andrew might hear, might hear how much he  _ wants _ . He’s so hard it hurts, but curling his hand around himself is boring, everything is boring now he knows how good sex with Andrew can be compared to sex without Andrew.

He wonders if he’s spoiled sex for himself, by having it with Andrew. By giving all he had to Andrew. He wants to go back to before, when it was just an afterthought, an irritating thing he had to get out of his system every once in a while.

He jerks off, half-hearted, but it doesn’t really help.

Tosses and turns.

Thinks back to that time Andrew had someone in his room, in his bed, the sounds that drifted through. If he went over there now - but he promised himself he’d stop.

He gets his phone, texts Jean an indecisive  _ hey _ , but Jean is one of those mythical beings who have a proper sleep schedule and is therefore, probably, asleep. Maybe Neil needs to sort that out, start building up healthier routines, turn his phone off for bed. He turns it off. Lets it drop over the side of his bed and turns on his stomach with a huff, gritting his teeth. He’s still hard. It seems like a waste, almost - being this horny and not being with Andrew. He shoves his boxers down and takes his t-shirt off and kicks the sheets down, lies there wide awake and exposed, glaring at the ceiling.

It’s stupid.

He palms his chest, tries to find any appeal in the uneven ridges and patches, thumbs at his nipples that have perked up against the cold, but it just feels like too little and too much all at once. Travelling down, he scrunches his hand in the hair below his navel, swipes at the sticky kiss of pre-come on his stomach and traces it back to the tip of his cock.

There’s a rushing sound in his ears and he stares, dazed, at the ceiling when a muffled knock comes from his door, wondering if he imagined it.

The door swishes open.

Neil jolts, the sudden movement jiggling a half-surprised, half-aroused sound loose from his throat, and yanks the blankets over himself.

“Getting started without me?” Andrew drawls, stopping short of his bed. “Rude.”

“Uh,” Neil says. “Thought you were sleeping.”

“Nope,” Andrew hums.

He peels back the blanket, and Neil lets him. Lets him look his fill, lets him open him up and arrange him, lets him crawl on top of him. Sighs as his weight finally settles on him, pinning him down.

“Miss me?” Andrew murmurs, biting softly at his lips.

Neil pulls in a dizzying breath and chases after his mouth, then stops.

“Andrew, I–”

He gets himself kissed for his trouble and can’t bring himself to complain. Andrew dips his tongue into him like he’s made of honey and cream and Neil shivers with his full body, arches up against him. He thinks, nonsensically, that for all his earlier dithering he might not actually last long now.

“Yes,” Andrew says, tilting his head this way and that, considering him. “Good.”

“Andrew,” Neil tries again. “There’s something I need to – you should know.”

“What’s that,” says Andrew disinterestedly, licking over Neil’s collarbone.

Neil closes his eyes, sets his resolve, and blurts out, “I think we should stop.”

Andrew stills. Neil tries to steady his breathing, and tries not to miss Andrew’s warmth as he peels away. He opens his eyes, and watches as everything in Andrew – the eagerness, the joy, the playfulness – recedes somewhere Neil can’t follow it.

Andrew is still above Neil, hands braced either side of his head, eyes trying to read something in Neil’s face. Neil swallows, and shifts to lean back on his elbows and Andrew moves away. He doesn’t leave, just rearranges himself at the end of Neil’s bed, one leg dangling off the side. “Ok,” he says, easy, but with an edge of something in his voice. “Care to tell me why?”

Neil wraps his arms and the sheet around his knees and looks away, lips pushed together. He shrugs, trying to seem casual. “I don’t think it – works for me.”

When Andrew is quiet for too long, Neil looks up to find him frowning, looking frustrated. “I asked what you wanted,” he says, sounding low and unbothered, almost like he’s trying hard. Which is – new.

Neil frowns back. “I know,” he says.

“Then that’s on you,” Andrew says, hands still in his lap but still staring at Neil like he wants to devour him. It makes Neil feel uncomfortable, warm, wanted, sad, distant, unknowable. “Maybe you’re right, we shouldn’t do this if you’re incapable of stating your preferences in bed.”

Neil says, “Um. Oh, no I – uh – that’s not what I mean.” Andrew tilts his head a little, and it reminds Neil too much of when he did that above him just moments ago, and he has to look away to say, “I like what we do together,” quiet and a little embarrassed.

“Ok,” Andrew says again, definitely losing patience now. “So tell me, rabbit, what’s got you running away this time?”

The name has Neil feeling warmth creeping up his neck; he knows it’s meant as an insult, but. It’s just making this harder.

Neil puts his face in one hand, and says, “I like you. Too much. For it to just be –” He stops. He can’t say anymore, he just can’t. So he says, “Anyway,” feeling stupid and too visible in this room and wishing that Andrew would do his disappearing act.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he says, “Right.” 

Neil removes his hand and looks at a blank-faced Andrew and waves it around. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve never – you know – done this with anyone before. It’s probably just – new. That’s probably all it is. But you know I can’t stop thinking about you and I don’t want to be just a convenience and – you’ve done nothing wrong, and it’s been fun, good, like amazing honestly, but – I just don’t want to anymore. I’m sorry. At least you can – you know. At least there are others, for you. I’m not sure – it’s not really like that for me. But –”

He’s  _ rambling _ .

And picking up the bunny from his nightstand and kneading it between his fingers, holding it in his lap.

And Andrew is just listening. Or waiting, maybe.

Neil mumbles, “It’s fine,” and does his best to smile.

Andrew groans and stands in one swift movement, and the smile fades from Neil’s face as Andrew walks to the window and looks out of it. “That fucking…” he stops, and runs a hand over his face, and Neil frowns, wondering what he’s done. Andrew turns, and looks at him, hands in his pockets and staring at Neil, and then at the bunny in his lap, and then at his box-nightstand, spotting the condoms Neil had bought for them, that they’d barely got to use. He points at them and says, “Have you had sex with anyone else?”

Neil shifts on the bed so he’s facing him, legs crossed beneath the covers, and says, “Well, yeah. That guy I told you–”

“No,” Andrew shakes his head. “Since we’ve been hooking up.”

“Oh. No, of course I haven’t.”

“Why ‘of course’?”

Neil frowns. “Because – Andrew, I just told you–”

“Right,” says Andrew. He looks out the window again, and then adds, tightly, “Neither have I.”

Something flares inside Neil at that, tight and possessive and happy, and he can’t help his eyebrows from rising, feeling his eyes big and surprised, and Andrew turns at that moment and assesses him. “Oh,” says Neil, feeling stupid. “Ok.”

“Yeah,” Andrew says after a moment. And then, “I don’t really know what you – want.”

He still looks annoyed, but Neil feels bright, brighter than he has in days, like maybe this is a conversation now, rather than something abrupt and final. He smiles and says, “I have no idea, honestly.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Helpful.”

“I don’t think either of us has been in a relationship before, so you don’t get to be snarky about it.”

“That’s what you want?”

Neil bites his lip. Shrugs. “Yes.”

Andrew nods, and runs a hand over his head, and says, “I think I should go.” He breathes out. “But – we will talk later, yes?”

Neil feels his smile widen. “Ok Andrew. Yes.”

Andrew walks forward, touches a hand to his cheek, frowning, and leans in to kiss him, soft, brief, on the lips. A thousand sparks erupt all over his skin, warm and tingling and – like something unfurling inside him, rising upwards, blooming like it’s been waiting for the sun and – and it’s better than before, this is better than anything they’ve done before, just this one kiss, just the taste of Andrew, like a promise, and – Neil places his hand over where Andrew’s is stroking gently against his scar and just kisses him back, breathing into Andrew’s mouth, lips moving against each other like this is new. 

Andrew murmurs, “See you later, rabbit,” and Neil feels the words pressed into him, and nods. Andrew taps his fingers between Neil’s, sighs, like he’s annoyed, and leaves the room. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O it's been a wild ride, y'all. <3

Neil wakes up to a slew of missed and increasingly cryptic messages from Jean, who apparently gets up at the ass crack of dawn if the time stamp on them is anything to go by. He sits on the window sill with a cup of coffee and his phone and reads through them, squinting against the morning light, then simply hits call.

“Hi,” Neil says as soon as Jean picks up. “Yes, I’m back, no, nothing happened, I just needed a break from these clowns, yes, next time I will keep my phone on. Now tell me about Jeremy.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, then Jean huffs.

“Well, I suppose if you must know, he took me on a date.”

“Kinky,” Neil teases. “Any other deep dark secrets you wanna share?”

“It was a classical concert,” Jean says, like that is somehow meaningful.

“Does he like classical music,” Neil asks.

“Not particularly, I don’t think.”

Neil takes a sip of his coffee and swills it around his mouth.

“Oh,” he says, getting it. “ _ You _ like it.”

“Yes,” Jean says.

“And he took you to one because he knows you like it.”

“Yes.”

“So does that mean…?”

“I don’t know what it means,” Jean says, frustrated. “Just that. We went on a date. I hope you are happy with yourself.”

“Because I bullied you into doing something you wanted to do but thought you couldn’t for some bullshit reason?” Neil grins. “Yeah. Very happy.”

“So how did Andrew react to your little disappearing act,” Jean asks, a little bit meanly, and Neil’s smile fades as he looks down at his empty mug.

He’d fallen asleep with softened edges, so sure they’d work it out in the morning, that they were essentially on the same page and just had to negotiate the small print. Now, though, he’s asking himself all sorts of questions he doesn’t have an answer to, and Andrew’s gone to work, and by the time Andrew is back Neil will have left for his own shift, and Seth already announced their presence was required at board game night tonight in the “where the fucking fuck is Neil” group chat that Neil has been added to as of this morning with strict instructions to reply to direct requests for his location in case of future crises.

“It’s fine,” Neil finds himself saying, “everything’s fine.”

“Really,” Jean says, sceptical. “He did not sound fine when he called asking where you were.”

“I,” Neil starts. “Yeah?”

“Mm.”

He swallows. Puts the still-warm mug against his cheek and leans on it, looking out the window at the frosted rooftops and unlit Christmas lights.

“We’ll talk about stuff,” he says, a little more firmly than he feels. “Soon.”

“Well, good,” Jean says.

“Yeah,” says Neil, placing his mug down and staring at it. He forces him to say, “Tell me more about Jeremy,” and smirks at nothing as Jean abruptly hangs up.

-

Renee is home, sitting in the living room with a jigsaw puzzle, and Neil joins her on the floor, and listens to her talk about the flower shop, and Allison, a small smile dancing around her face, and then she says, “Why Wymack’s?”

Neil doesn’t look up from where he’s trying to mash an end piece in with no success. “He’s Kevin’s dad,” he says.

“I know,” Renee says kindly, waiting Neil out.

Neil chews his lip. “He’s kinda like my dad too,” he says, quietly. “He was kinda my dad before he even knew he was Kevin’s.”

He doesn’t say that he’s the one who found Kevin, who poked and prodded until Kevin admitted that Wymack was his biological father, who got them to talk. Who was suddenly surplus, after all that was done. Except not really.

Renee lifts a hand up and takes Neil’s, and he lets her, and puts some more puzzle pieces in before the alarm on his phone goes off and he leaves to go to work.

On the way, holding his jacket tight around his collar, fingertips freezing in the cold, he calls Allison. She answers with a slew of cursing that Neil waits out patiently, blowing on his fingers and swapping them out for pockets. Eventually he says, “I’m sorry.”

Allison tuts down the phone. “Of course you are,” she snaps. “That’s not the point. You couldn’t have at least called me?” Neil shrugs, and Allison says, “Don’t just shrug at me.”

Some cold spot in Neil melts a little, and he has to pause, and blink down at his feet, before he can say, “I didn’t know what I was doing. Everything felt messed up. I thought you would  – I don’t know.”

“Clearly,” Allison says, obviously still going for angry but with something fond in her tone. “For fuck’s sake, Neil.”

“Meet me for lunch? At Ezy’s?” Neil says, knows he sounds desperate and doesn’t care. He can almost feel Allison smiling down the line.

She turns up an hour early, sits on Neil’s counter in designer sweats and crosses her legs at the ankles, makes herself a strawberry milkshake, gets Neil to play “speed bowling” with her on his thirty minute break, and graffitis the signs on the bathroom doors so both have a silhouette of a person wearing a skirt, scribbling  _ gender is a construct  _ underneath. He loves her, and tells her so, and she ruffles his hair so hard she then spends half an hour standing behind him while he serves customers brushing it and playing with it.

At the end of Neil’s shift they leave together, Allison with one arm around him, sunglasses on in grey December chill, and Neil says, “We’re playing board games tonight?”

Allison squeezes him once and hauls him over to her car. “I’ve already been informed.” She smiles. “A certain little lady invited me.” Neil pushes her away. Neil takes out his phone and sees a message from Seth in the group chat:  _ neil’s location and eta requested _

Neil types,  _ on my way home. In allison’s car. Allison is coming too. _

He gets four people replying in some variant of  _ he’s alive!  _ and turns his phone on silent.

-

They play Jenga.

It is, possibly, the worst choice of game in the history of their board game nights, because everyone gets excessively competitive and it soon devolves into cheating and feuds. Neil discovers that he is both weirdly good at playing Jenga  _ and  _ weirdly good at cheating at Jenga and maybe makes an enemy of Seth for life.

The only one who doesn’t participate is Andrew. Neil kind of expected him to once again demonstrate his superior motor skills and/or joyfully sabotage everyone else, but mostly he just sits there, looking anywhere but at Neil, and plays with a ring on his thumb that he stole from Renee when she was busy blushing over something Allison whispered in her ear.

Neil tries not to worry.

Neil worries.

They pause the game when their pizza arrives, though the arguments move on seamlessly into pizza topping banter. Neil is banned from playing another round and lies down on the floor with his feet propped up against Matt’s shoulder and his head in Allison’s lap, smirking at her every time she does something sappy like link her pinkie with Renee’s or click a piece of wood against hers like a mini high five when one of them does well. Allison smirks back at him and flicks his forehead before smoothing her long fingers through his hair.

It’s good. Even Andrew’s silence doesn’t make it not good, but it sits somewhere in the pit of Neil’s stomach like a wad of chewing gum swallowed by accident. He ignores it. Twirls a strand of Allison’s hair around his finger, marvelling at the bounce of her curls, until she swats his hand away. Another tower falls to jeers and whoops and Neil’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He opens it to find Kevin asking for the fifth time if they’re all coming over for the last exy game of the season this weekend, and he types back “no exy is stupid” and looks down at his orange hoody and smirks a little remembering how much Andrew hates it.

His phone buzzes again, this time with an incoming call.

“Yes of course we’re coming, fuck’s sake,” Neil grumbles into it without waiting for Kevin to ask. “Stop being embarrassing.”

“Is that Kevin,” Seth asks fondly. “Tell him he’s a dildo.”

“Seth wants me to tell you that you’re a dildo,” Neil replies obediently.

“I’m just making sure,” Kevin says peevishly. “There won’t be another game to watch for a while after that one, so if you miss it-”

“We won’t,” Neil says.

They both breathe for a moment, quiet and comfortable.

“So,” Kevin says, sounding awkward. “Are you coming for Christmas this year, then?”

Neil holds his breath for a moment, letting it expand his lungs, then unspool slowly through his nose.

“Guess I will,” he says, and feels light.

“Good,” Kevin says sternly, “I’ll remind you.”

“Please don’t.”

“See you on Saturday. Don’t be late.”

The line clicks dead. Neil smiles and puts his phone away, then gets up and nearly topples the newest tower.

“Who wants to play Monopoly?”

-

Dan wins, and is more pleased than anyone ought to be about winning Monopoly. Allison finds some scrap paper and Renee colours it in gold, and they cut out a crown and stick it on top of Dan’s head. She pours out wine, calling herself King of Monopoly, and Neil lets her hug him to her side, even shares a sip of her wine, enjoying the way it coats his tongue and throat, thick and rich.

Matt and Seth are talking about the game on Saturday, and the prospect of buying Kevin a dildo to celebrate the results with, and Neil wanders into the kitchen to get some water.

He almost instantly hears someone get to their feet to follow after him.

In the kitchen he changes his mind and boils some water, gets down two mugs and starts making hot chocolate. He hears Andrew come up behind him, and then climb on top of a counter instead. He fiddles with Neil’s shirt though, and Neil feels warm and flustered as he passes a hot chocolate to Andrew and hops onto the counter next to him.

Andrew’s not looking at him when he says, “You’re a fast learner.”

Neil blows at his drink. “What?”

Andrew waves a hand, not meeting his eye. “Bowling. Jenga. I thought you’d never played.”

“I hadn’t.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re good at bowling too,” Neil says, no idea what they’re talking about, really, because Andrew’s dangling leg has moved an inch over to brush against Neil’s.

“Yes,” says Andrew, and then abruptly he adds, “I don’t know what you want. With us. I don’t know what you even want. I don’t know if I can do it.”

Neil’s chest tightens, and he almost forgets to swallow his cocoa. He does, and a little “oh,” escapes his mouth, entirely unwarranted, and he swallows again and says, “Alright,” to the side of Andrew’s face.

Andrew frowns at thin air and he taps a finger against one knee, holding his mug on top of the other. He says, “I don’t know how to do that.”

Neil nods. “Yeh. Ok.” He kind of wants to leave now, doesn’t know if that would be rude. Andrew’s one of his best friends and it would be rude to leave without saying something, wouldn’t it? He scrambles. “I might just, go, um -”

Andrew snaps, “Don’t,” angry, apparently so angry he still can’t bear to look at Neil. Neil frowns at him. He just waits. He knows this expression, knows Andrew will sort what he wants to say eventually, and meanwhile his hot chocolate is getting cold, so Neil removes it from his knee and places both mugs to one side. When he looks back Andrew is staring at him, eyes moving over his face, like he’s thinking, like he’s making some sort of calculation.

Neil lets him, feeling exposed and sad and just wanting to leave. And then he wonders if that’s why Andrew’s mad.

“Andrew,” he says slowly, meeting his eyes, “It’s ok. I won’t leave again. That was stupid, I know. And, I’m ok with being your friend. We’re still friends, right?”

Andrew doesn’t answer for a second. He’s still watching Neil, jaw clenched and working something out, and Neil stares back and tries to steady the insistent beating of his heart, trying not to want to touch Andrew, trying not to imagine what it would be like to get to have this, trying not to feel too much like his whole world is sitting in front of him, just out of his reach.

Andrew takes in a deep breath, and says, low and quiet and unsure, “I like you.”

“Ok,” Neil says, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands, or the rest of himself.

Andrew makes a little growl, a frustrated noise as he wipes a hand through his hair.

“You are a piece of work,” he mutters, then reaches out to cup Neil’s jaw and make him look at him. “I want you,” he murmurs, and the way he says it zips down Neil’s spine like a spark along a fuse, lighting him up. “I want you to stay.”

Somehow Neil doesn’t think he means just here, in this house.

He swallows.

“Ok,” he says again. “Then I’ll stay.”

Andrew nods a few times, eyes flicking between his eyes and his mouth.

“You can kiss me,” Neil tells him. “Pretty sure that’s. Part of it.”

“It,” Andrew repeats.

“Staying,” Neil says. “With you.”

Andrew makes another frustrated noise.

“This,” he says, “is why I don’t do relationships.”

“Explain,” Neil demands.

“People thinking it gives you blanket permission,” Andrew mutters, angry verging on bitter. “That just because you’re in a relationship means it’s always a yes.”

“It’s not,” Neil objects. “Nothing is ever always.”

“Exactly,” Andrew hums, fingers pressing into Neil’s cheek. “So don’t look at me like that. And don’t always me.”

Neil shrugs.

“You can still kiss me,” he says, “if you want.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I’ll tell you,” Neil says after thinking about it for a moment.

Andrew looks like he’s trying to swallow something unpleasant.

“Promise,” Neil adds. Then, “Do you want to kiss me?”

“One track mind,” Andrew murmurs, then leans in. It’s not a soft kiss, nothing slow or gentle or hesitant about it. It’s like Andrew is trying to prove something. Like he’s daring Neil to withdraw.

Neil pushes back, anchors both of his hands on the back of Andrew’s neck, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and noting the shiver it sends down Andrew’s back. They knock over the kitchen roll and send an errant spoon clattering to the ground and Andrew freezes for a moment before continuing his non-verbal argument, though Neil has already forgotten what the point was.

The point, he thinks, is that they’re finally kissing.

The point is that they’re here, right now, and Neil’s being dismantled in the most pleasant way, and Andrew wants him to stay.

The point is: it’s a yes right now. For both of them. Loud and clear.

And Neil is going to make good use of that.

-

Upstairs, Andrew shifts them beneath the covers, shifts himself over Neil, and Neil encourages Andrew with the warmth embedded under his skin, smiles when Andrew kisses his scar, bites him below the ear, shrugs down his pants and takes him in his hand, and he pulls Andrew’s shirt off, kisses his chest nonsensically until Andrew shoves him away, kisses him hard on the mouth, and Neil tries to shift his hand between them to take off his hoody but Andrew captures his wrists and holds his hands above his head, whispers  _ yes _ into the silence left behind when Andrew hesitates, and moans when Andrew pulls his own dick out and takes them both in one hand.

It feels different. Light, he thinks, like light is streaming in through the window and coating their skin. Like he’s suddenly not worried. Like the feel of Andrew’s body moving hot and messy against his is all the warmth he needs. More fun, he thinks. Before was – fun, sure, but this is – Andrew staring at him, open and vulnerable, blank expression but eyes tense and alert and gorgeous, hand running over both of them, bringing them together like it’s natural, like it’s where he wants Neil, and Neil is just in his throat, all sensation bottled down to running his free fingers over Andrew’s shoulder, the friction between them, kissing him hard and memorising his taste and – this is more like everything.

“Well,” Neil says, after, when they’re both lying on Andrew’s bed, catching their breath. Andrew is shirtless and Neil is naked from the waist down, still clad in his orange hoody, and a few hickeys adorning his neck.

“Hmmh,” Andrew pants.

“Guess you do like the hoody,” Neil grins, plucking at the fabric.

“Shut up,” Andrew growls.

Neil turns on his side and just looks, thinking he gets to now. When Andrew narrows his eyes a little Neil tries to school his expression into something he hopes isn’t  _ looking at Andrew like that _ , and he twists their fingers together and says, “Can I sleep here?”

Andrew nods, brushes their lips together. Neil can’t help grinning against him. Andrew hauls him further into his space by tugging the strings on his hoody and grabbing his ass for further leverage, and Neil says, “I think you’re going to be good at this.”

Andrew looks unimpressed. “Don’t be so sure.”

“Doing a great job so far.”

“You could do with being quiet more often.”

Neil says, “Maybe I’ll be ok, too.” He doesn’t really mean to say it, and he’s not even entirely sure what he means, but Andrew stills, one hand skating under the hoody and playing casually with the coarse hair there, like he was thinking of touching him again, except now he’s looking at Neil, something intense in his expression.

“Yes,” he says, moving his fingers instead to hook around the back of Neil’s neck, hugging him tight around the back with his other arm, soft and hard against his hoody, and bringing him in for another kiss.

-

The next morning, Neil is squirming under Andrew, trying to ask what they should tell the others, and Andrew is sucking on his dick like he couldn’t care less, and afterwards in the bathroom Neil is pushing Andrew against the tiles and stripping him slowly, and sucking on his neck, and almost forgets to ask again.

At dinner that evening, Andrew doesn’t look at him, doesn’t say a word to anyone, and Neil is extra cheerful in the face of worried looks from Matt and Seth. When Andrew climbs quietly into Neil’s bed, Neil says, “Should we tell the others?”

Andrew shrugs, pyjamas on, yawning into Neil’s chest and flumping half of his body over him. Neil smirks, amused, happy with this new development, and waits for the signal that Andrew wants to be hugged.

Andrew says, “No,” and then, “Yes.” He looks up at Neil with one eye open, arranging Neil’s arms around him. “Is this some sort of test?”

“No?” says Neil, thinking. He smiles. “I don’t think so.”

Andrew closes his eye again and shrugs against Neil. “Then I don’t care. Let them figure it out.”

Neil presses his smile against Andrew’s hair, and tangles their legs together, and falls asleep within seconds.

-

“I’m busy,” says Andrew.

Neil drags a hand through the clothes in his boxes, sighing, and says, “Doing what?”

When he looks up Andrew is holding up his fingers, a fresh set of black varnish drying on his nails. Neil frowns. “That’ll take ten minutes, tops.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Get yourself a man who memorises your nail varnish setting time,” he mutters, and Neil laughs.

Neil finds the orange exy shorts he likes, and a pair of grey sweatpants with an orange stripe running down the sides, and holds them up to Andrew. “I don’t know what to wear.”

“No,” says Andrew without looking at him, blowing on his nails, and then holding them out to Bunny so she can blow too. “We’re not those people.”

Neil says, “I said we’d go.”

“So go.”

“Come with me.”

Andrew glares at him. “You didn’t tell me exy came with this package.”

Neil shrugs. “You should have read the small print.” He puts the shorts down and starts tugging the sweatpants on, but Andrew is up and over to him in a second, stilling his progress. Neil looks at him.

Andrew looks at the sweatpants, considering, and says, “The shorts.”

“Hmm?” Neil is being kissed now, and he’s a little distracted.

“Wear the shorts,” Andrew says slowly, “and I’ll come with you.”

Neil laughs, a little unsure. “Really?”

Andrew nods, and then grabs the sweatpants from Neil and starts unbuttoning his jeans with careful fingers.

“Um,” says Neil, even more distracted now, “I don’t think we have time.”

But then Andrew is sliding Neil’s college-coloured sweats over his ass, and tightening the cord around the waist, and checking his nail varnish is still intact, and he’s wearing a faded black band tshirt, and even with the incongruence looks completely  _ amazing _ , and flicks him a look. “Don’t want to keep  _ her majesty  _ waiting.”

-

Neil has never been so distracted during an exy game.

The shorts, he thinks vaguely, it must be the shorts. Andrew’s had at least one hand on him the whole time they’ve been here, fiddling with his collar, preening his hair, playing with the drawstrings on his shirt, questing into his pockets, brushing crumbs away. Right now Andrew’s fingers are rubbing along the waistband of the shorts in question, just underneath Neil’s shirt, invisible but impossible to ignore.

“So many sticks,” Andrew murmurs into his ear. “So many balls.”

“Just one, actually,” Neil murmurs back, but he can’t stifle the twitch when the calloused pad of Andrew’s finger brushes over the soft skin at his hip.

“If you say so,” Andrew says.

Kevin is keeping up a running commentary on the game so much so that Jean has muted the actual commentary. Number nine is running at the goal and Kevin reverts to an odd sort of shorthand in his excitement while Dan grips Matt’s hand so tightly Matt makes a silent grimace of pain (but doesn’t have the heart to pull away). Jeremy, who is sitting at a prim and proper distance to Jean but keeps shooting him longing looks, seems to nearly combust with joy when Jean scoots a little closer and bites his lip.

A goal is scored.

The group goes wild.

But Neil can’t really focus on the game.

During half-time, Neil gets up to stretch, feeling Andrew’s eyes on him. He and Jean grab Kevin and tow him into the kitchen to get some water into him, and Jean meets Neil’s eyes while Kevin re-enacts the last goal and spills his drink everywhere in the process.

“What,” Neil mouths.

Jean quirks an eyebrow. Neil feels himself flush.

“Oh, shut up.”

Kevin pauses in the middle of waving an imaginary racquet at the air.

“What’s up with you two?” he asks, frowning. “You’re usually more engaged than this.”

“Nothing,” Jean and Neil say in unison.

“Jean is feeling a little under the weather,” Neil explains, waggling his eyebrows. “He’s caught… well, something.”

Feelings, he doesn’t say.

“Careful you don’t catch  _ something  _ too,” Jean remarks archly. “Those shorts are awfully light for December.”

“Do try not to spread it around,” Kevin says. “Neil, you need to be in top condition for the New Year’s run.”

“Are you, Neil?” Jean asks innocently. “In  _ top  _ condition?”

Neil throws a soda tab at him. This is probably payback for the time he asked Jean about masturbating, and he’s not going to indulge him.

“Let’s go,” he says, “half time will be over soon and we don’t want to miss Kevin wetting his pants when they sub number twelve on.”

“Neil,” Kevin says as they’re heading back to the living room, “I meant to tell you, if you want to get a move on with job-hunting over the holidays-”

Neil tunes him out. Then he abruptly tunes back in just to say: “I don’t, actually,” and Kevin gives him a look like he wants to argue, and Neil stops walking and shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls his shoulders up and back and down and-

“I like my job,” he says. “I really don’t give a shit if it’s not a career or doesn’t pay well or check off some other arbitrary milestone I allegedly need to reach in my twenties.”

Kevin looks taken aback, but doesn’t say anything. Andrew pops around the corner, glancing between them and failing to look casual.

“Is there a problem?” he asks.

“Nope,” Neil says. “Except for the one where we’re going to miss the second half.”

“God forbid,” Andrew mutters. He plucks the bag of Thai sweet chilli chips out of Kevin’s hand and bullies Jeremy into giving up his space on the sofa so he and Neil can have their earlier seat back, expertly opens the chips and plops them in Neil’s lap.

Neil looks down at the bag and feels a funny little twist in his stomach.

“Very romantic,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, getting a shove in response.

Andrew’s hand disappears in the bag over and over again, and sometimes his tongue peeks out to lick the dust off his fingers, and Neil stays stockstill, and watches him, and sometimes watches the game.

Andrew’s hand brushes the bottom of the packet and Neil jumps.

Kevin is waving his arms around, and Dan and Matt are leaning so far forward they’re almost blocking the screen. Seth is sideways in an armchair, scrolling on his phone. Jean and Jeremy have inched so close Jeremy has somehow convinced Jean to put his arm around him, and is looking very pleased with himself. Jean looks terrified.

Which is why Neil thinks they’re safe. He squirms under Andrew’s touch. Andrew feels him through the packet once before withdrawing his hand. “Shucks,” he murmurs, “all out.”

“Mm,” says Neil, coherently, replacing the empty packet with a cushion.

He kind of wants Andrew’s arm around him, too.

Decides he’ll make do with a kiss, and tries to subtly hint for one by looking at Andrew  _ like that.  _ Andrew looks unimpressed, plants a quick kiss to his ear before sitting back and crossing his arms.

Neil grins at him.

“Has that happened yet?”

Neil looks around to see Seth pointing at them.

“What?”

Matt looks round. “Oh, has it? Great,” and snaps his attention back to the screen.

Neil looks cautiously at Andrew, who hasn’t moved and is watching the game with more attention than he’s given it all night.

“Has what happened?” asks Jeremy, sitting up and dislodging Jean’s arm.

Seth gestures at Neil and Andrew again and says, “That.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “You’re a bad secret keeper.”

“I am not!” says Seth, sitting upright and pointing at him. “I never told Andrew you only wear that fucking hoody to annoy him.” He pauses, then slumps dramatically. “Aw, shit.”

And then Andrew reacts, plucking at Neil’s orange  _ Kevin Day  _ hoody with his finger and thumb. He gives Neil a curious look. Neil shrugs and says to Seth, “I think he likes it ok now.”

“I’ll say,” says Matt.

Kevin pokes his head round the back of Matt. “Oh. Neil and Andrew are a thing? Ok.” He accepts this like he just needs enough information to update his mental spreadsheet, and returns his attention back to the game, trying to explain something to Dan that she probably already knows. She gives a curious glance at Neil and then whispers in Matt’s ear. When he whispers back she gasps at him, but says nothing.

Jeremy looks at Andrew, then Neil, and says, “Ohhh,  _ that’s  _ what you meant.”

Jean looks down at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” says Jeremy and Neil at the same time.

Andrew plucks at Neil’s hoody again, and this time leaves his fingers in the soft folds.

Neil squirms.

Jean narrows his eyes at Neil.

Neil says, “Jeremy thought I liked you. I said I didn’t because, ah, well.”

Jeremy sits up, all smug and excited. “Because he liked Andrew! This makes so much sense.” Jean pokes Jeremy in the side, and Jeremy adds, “Oh um, he told me you um – liked me,” he says, adapting slightly.

Jean gives Neil a cold look, and Neil grins. “You’re welcome.” Jean returns his arm around Jeremy and kisses the side of his head. Jeremy melts into his side.

“How long has this been going on?” asks Dan, pointing a finger between Neil and Andrew.

Only Kevin is still watching the game.

“Oh,” says Neil, “not uh, not long.”

“Like months,” says Matt, “probably.”

“Like  _ one  _ month,” says Seth.

“Like a few days,” says Neil, honestly.

Andrew says nothing, but he pulls Neil closer, sits up straighter, and tucks an arm around him. Neil pushes his lips together in an effort not to smile, and relaxes beneath Andrew’s weight.

Dan smiles, and returns her attention to the screen, and just like that everyone is watching the game again, except now Neil and Andrew are a thing, and everyone knows, and somehow it’s just ok, and Andrew is touching him – across the shoulders, the back of the neck, fingers digging into his waist, and Neil is slouched next to him, and surrounded by his family, and it’s just – nice. He wriggles a little to get comfy and looks to the side to see Andrew staring at him.

Neil whispers, “Staring?”

And Andrew whispers, “Shut up,” and almost smiles.

Their team win, and when the final buzzer goes everyone else gets to their feet in celebration, except for Andrew and Neil, and they’re loud, and raucous, and happy, and Neil’s family, and Andrew curls a hand around Neil’s cheek, and Neil closes his eyes, and Andrew breathes across his lips, and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, it's finally done! writing this together was honestly the most fun, we fell so ridiculously in love with jean and allison and seth and - wait, all of them. *clenches fists* *sobs*
> 
> thanks so much for your generous and crazy comments, they made our week every week. if you're not a fan of novo amor by now, why not. decimal is andrew and neil's song. go look it up, losers. ok we're gonna miss you all, byeee *final sob* <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, we'd be thrilled if you left kudos or a comment, or subscribed to the fic/our author's profiles. You can also find us on Tumblr ([djhedy](https://djhedy.tumblr.com/) and [annawrites (moonix)](https://annawrites.tumblr.com/)) or Twitter ([dejahedy](https://twitter.com/dejahedy) and [moonixwrites](https://twitter.com/MoonixWrites)).


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